Avenger Origins: Ant-Man
by tpt player 5701
Summary: In "Avengers Plan B," Scott Lang was introduced as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent and member of Avengers Team B. In the events of "Team B to the Rescue," Scott suffered a devastating injury and received a new suit. But how did he become Ant-Man in the first place? Before saving the world, an ex-con is driven to the brink, forced to choose between his daughter's life and his own freedom.
1. Prologue

AN: Thanks to all those who went back and read, reviewed, and favorite my previous stories while I was busy writing this one. This story is entirely written, so there shouldn't be any breaks in publishing. If you've read my last story, "Post-Coma Coulson," most of this should look familiar from the preview at the end of the last chapter. Including prologue and epilogue, it is 31 chapters long, my longest yet. The epilogue includes a preview for my next story in the "Avenger Origins" series,which will include at least two more stories beyond this one, and possibly one or two more..

If you haven't read my previous stories, I would encourage you to do so, though this story doesn't really rely on any of them since it is a prequel, concluding about six months before _Iron Man_. However, there are a few references in "Avengers Plan B" and "Team B to the Rescue" to the events in this story. Reading them first is not necessary to understanding this story.

I hope you enjoy Scott Lang's story!

* * *

"Lang, sign here."

"Gee, thanks," Scott Lang responded, grabbing the extended clipboard from the prison warden. He quickly read over the forms and signed his name on the line at the bottom of the page. Once he had handed the clipboard back, the warden pulled a clear plastic bag out of a crate on the floor and dropped it on the counter in front of him. Scott looked at the bag. "So who do I have to thank for the wonderful accommodations?" he asked sarcastically.

"Just take your stuff and go, Lang," the warden growled dismissively, turning back to his computer.

Scott grabbed his bag, turned on his heel, and stalked down the corridor to the left to find the changing room where released prisoners could clean up before leaving the prison. He gave a cursory glance around the changing room before pulling a stall open, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. He violently pulled off his prison uniform and exchanged it with the jeans and red-and-black T-shirt he had been wearing four years earlier when he arrived at Seagate Penitentiary. He tossed the orange jumpsuit into the corner of the stall, stuffed his few personal effects into his pocket, and threw the plastic bag into the corner on top of the jumpsuit. Head held high in defiance, he strode out of the changing room without a backward glance, leaving the jumpsuit and bag behind as a final act of rebellion, and headed for the prison exit. As he reached the door, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slid them on the bridge of his nose. "Well," he muttered to himself, pushing the door open and walking out into the bright Georgia sunshine, "I guess I gotta get busy living."


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"_I hereby sentence you to six years in Seagate Prison," the judge declared imperiously, slamming his gavel._

_The prisoner nodded silently and looked down at his handcuffed hands. He stood there for a moment, not hearing his public defender's voice from his left side. He glanced up and looked around the courtroom for the first time since entering. His eyes stopped on the bench directly behind him, where his wife and two-year-old daughter had sat through the entire proceedings. Peggy Rae sat stiffly, staring straight ahead, eyes dry, seemingly oblivious to everything happening around her. Next to her on the bench sat two-year-old Cassie, looking up at her father through her curly blond hair. A stuffed dragonfly was clasped in her pudgy little toddler hands. _The Hungry Little Caterpillar_ sat open on the bench next to her._

"_Daddy?" his daughter asked, fixing her big blue eyes on him. "What happening?"_

"_It's okay, sweetie," Scott choked out. "Daddy's going away for a while. But I want you to know that I love you and I will see you again real soon, okay?"_

"'_Kay, Daddy," Cassie smiled. She picked her book up again and started happily flipping through the pages._

_Scott turned to look at his wife and stammered, "Peg, I—"_

"_I don't want to hear it, Scott," Peggy said, finally breaking out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She glared at him fiercely and demanded, "How could you do it? How could you get involved in something like that?"_

"_Peggy, you _know_ why I needed to do it," Scott said hesitantly, averting his eyes. He looked back a moment later, eyes moist, and practically begged her to understand. "We could barely make ends meet, even when I _did_ have a job. When I got laid off, there was nothing else I could do, especially with Cassie's—"_

"_Yes, there was," Peggy interrupted him. She shook her head, turning away from her husband and instead examining the tile work in the floor by her feet. "You could have found another job."_

"_I tried that. No one was hiring."_

"_My parents said they'd help."_

"_No," Scott said forcefully. "Your parents would have meant moving to Indiana, and I couldn't do that to Cassie. All her friends are here. Her doctors are all here. We couldn't have left."_

"_Well, whether you like it or not, now I _am_ leaving," Peggy responded, looking her husband in the eyes resolutely, angrily._

_Scott stared at her, dumbstruck, for a moment. "… what?" he finally choked out, barely above a whisper, hardly believing his own ears._

"_You heard me right. I'm leaving," Peggy said again, more strongly. "I'm taking Cassie and we're going to Indiana to live with my parents."_

"_No, but Peggy…" Scott pleaded. "Please… Don't do this…"_

"_Scott, I'm not staying here with a sick daughter and waiting for my convicted felon husband to get out of prison," Peggy told him. "I need to go home. I need _support_."_

"_Please don't do this," Scott begged again, bringing his hands up in supplication._

_Peggy shook her head. "I've already thought it through, and this is in my and Cassie's best interests. I'm moving back home the end of this week. The divorce papers are already filled out; my lawyer is filing them today, so you'll probably get them tomorrow. Scott, this is goodbye."_

_Peggy reached down, took Cassie's book out of her hands, and placed it in her purse. "It's time to go, sweetie," she said as Cassie started to protest. When the two year old nodded, Peggy picked Cassie up in her arms. She settled the dragonfly in place in Cassie's hands, picked up her purse, and walked down the bench to the aisle. She walked out without once looking back. Cassie smiled to her father over her mother's shoulder, and waved to him._

"_Peggy!"_

* * *

Scott Lang shot awake; he'd had the dream again. He groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position on the cheap motel bed. Head still foggy from sleep, he stood up and stumbled over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed some water in his face. "Well," he mumbled to himself in resignation, "it's already five, so there's no point trying to go back to sleep. Let's see what kind of breakfast there is in this dump."

Scott pulled on the same jeans and T-shirt he'd worn the day before when he walked from the Seagate ferry into town, grabbed his nearly-empty wallet, room key, and sunglasses, and stumbled out of the dingy room. The hot and humid Atlanta air assaulted his face and immediately made his shirt stick to his chest. Across the street he saw an internet café that had just opened, so he crossed the street and walked in. He ordered a cup of black coffee and took it over to a table with a computer. While the computer booted up, he stirred his coffee aimlessly, pondering his next move. Once the computer was ready, Scott opened an internet browser and typed in a series of commands. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes while the computer worked.

Five minutes later, the computer beeped at him, and Scott started scanning through the list of job openings. He stopped and looked more closely at an opening for a computer programmer. He followed the link and saw the Hammer Industries logo. After quickly reading through the job requirements, Scott pulled out a flash drive, inserted it into the computer, pulled up a file, and started typing an email. When he was satisfied, he returned to his modified search screen to browse for more job openings.

Four hours later, Scott had filled out twenty different job applications for companies across the country.

"What is it that's had you so engrossed in that computer all morning?" the waitress asked, coming by to fill his coffee cup for the fifth time. She was a young woman, probably no more than 20, fair skinned with dark brown hair.

"Filling out some job applications," Scott replied, scooping some sugar into his cup. "That and waiting 'til I can make a phone call."

"Oh?"

"My wife left me four years ago, took our daughter and went to live with her parents. I haven't seen either of them since," Scott said hesitantly. "I want to give them a call."

"Well good luck," the waitress smiled, walking toward the café's backroom. A few minutes later Scott noticed her leaving out of the corner of his eye, a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Scott finished his coffee, dropped a couple dollars on the table, and left the café. He crossed the street and walked over to the bank of payphones outside his rundown motel. He stepped into one of the booths, but stepped out again when he saw that the receiver was missing. The second phone didn't work. Finally he found a working payphone and held it up to his ear. He hesitated for a moment, put some change in the slot, and pulled a worn piece of paper out of his wallet with a number on it. He reached to press the first number, but stopped before his finger reached the button, scared of what he would hear. He wiped the fresh sweat off his hand onto his T-shirt, plucked up his courage, and started dialing before he could change his mind again. The phone rang for a couple minutes before someone picked up.

"Hello?" a girl's voice asked. She sounded no older than six.

Scott nearly dropped the phone receiver in surprise at hearing his daughter's voice. Finding his voice again, Scott nervously said, "Hi, is your Mommy home?"

The girl didn't answer right away. Scott heard pattering feet, and the girl calling, "Mommy!"

He heard a familiar voice answer, "What is it sweetie?"

"Someone on the phone asked for you!"

"Hello?" Peggy Rae said into the phone.

Scott suddenly felt his throat closing from anxiety and fear. He couldn't say anything for a long moment. He heard his ex-wife start to talk again, and finally choked out, "Hi, Peggy… I… got out of prison yesterday."

When Peggy didn't answer right away, Scott nearly hung up the phone in panic. Finally, he heard her clear her throat and answer.

"Scott…" Peggy said, slowly. "I… wasn't expecting you to call."

"I'm sorry for doing this to you—to us," Scott began.

Peggy interrupted him. He heard the conflict in her tone. "Scott, I've remarried."

The phone dropped from Scott's slack hand and dangled by its cord. Scott's mouth fell open in shock.

He could hear a small voice coming out of the dangling phone receiver. "Scott? Scott? Are you still there?" Breaking out of his reverie, Scott reached down and grabbed the receiver again and brought it back to his ear.

"Yeah… I'm still here."

"Scott, I told you I was going home. We got a divorce. Did you really expect me to be waiting for you when you got out?"

"I hoped you would," he managed to respond. "You never called, and you never took my calls, but I hoped that after… that we might start over…" he trailed off lamely.

"Scott, I'm sorry, but I—I can't," Peggy replied hesitantly, sadly. "I've remarried. He's a wonderful man and I love him. I'm sorry, but I won't leave him for you."

Scott looked out around him. He saw a man walking down the street, a little boy held in his arm. He thought about the daughter he hadn't seen in four years. "What about Cassie?" he finally asked. "How is she?"

"Bill simply loves her," Peggy answered hesitantly, "but I don't think she's ever really gotten over the divorce and losing her father."

Scott looked down at the floor dejectedly and thought. "I know. I'm sorry I did that to her. I saw some kids who came in to visit their fathers," he mused sadly. "They seemed pretty messed up with their fathers in prison; I can't imagine what it must've done to her when one day I'm there and the next, I'm not. I can't begin to say how much that's been weighing on my mind. But what I meant to ask was, how is her condition?" Scott pushed.

"The doctors in Lafayette have tried everything," Peggy answered. Scott heard her sniff a little before she continued, "They've been able to manage the symptoms a little better than her doctor in Atlanta did, but they can't really do more than that. I've taken her to see a couple of specialists in Chicago, but they don't have any idea what to do for her, either. Right now, she's in about the same condition as when you went to prison."

Scott ignored the jab. "Can I see her?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe—I don't know," Peggy answered. In the background Scott heard a small voice say, "Mommy, who are you talking to? Is that my daddy? I want to talk to him! Can I see him? Can I go to live with him? I want my daddy! Daddy!"

Scott asked urgently, "What if I find a job? Somewhere where I can take her to better doctors? _Could_ she come and live with me?"

"I—I don't know…" Peggy began.

"Please, Peggy!" Scott begged. "I lost four years with Cassie… you don't know what it's been like: Never seeing her, never talking with her, never knowing if she's doing better, or doing worse, or even if she's…" Scott's voice trailed off into a sniff. He took a breath and continued, more calmly, "I don't want to lose any more time with her. I just want a _chance_ to be a good father to her. Please, Peggy, I can't handle having her out of my life any longer."

He heard Peggy sigh and shush the little girl on the other end of the phone. She was silent for a moment, thinking. "If you manage to find a job, somewhere with better access to medical care, I'll think about it," Peggy finally answered cagily.


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. I hope I didn't make Peggy too unsympathetic in the last chapter; I'm going to explore her motives more in a future chapter.

* * *

"_So, what're you in for?" a deep voice demanded from the bottom bunk the moment the cell door closed behind Scott with a bang. Scott took a closer look at the bunk's occupant, a tall, muscled black man. His head was shaved so closely that it almost shone in the fluorescent lighting of the prison cell when the man leaned forward, out of the shadow cast by the top bunk._

_Scott took a couple more steps into the cell and sat down at the small metal chair. "I stole some files from the company I worked for," he admitted._

"_Not many a' those type a' criminals in Seagate," the other man observed, looking Scott over appraisingly._

"_I didn't say that was all I did," Scott retorted. He was silent for a moment. Realizing he was staring, he averted his gaze from his new cellmate. Finally he continued, "My back was against a wall. I'd just gotten laid off. I needed money so my sick daughter could keep getting her treatment, and no one was hiring, 'least not in Atlanta. I tried everything I could. I didn't know what else to do, so I broke into my old office and downloaded a couple of the programs I'd been working on."_

"_Computer stuff?"_

"_Yeah, I'm a computer programmer," Scott replied. "I'd been working on this great electronic security program, almost finished it, too. This program could completely change the way that electronic security operates. And it was my creation from start to finish, so it shoulda been mine anyways, right? I figured, maybe someone would pay me enough money for it so I could pay for my daughter's treatment."_

"_I'll assume it didn't work out like you'd planned," the man observed with a short laugh._

"_Guard saw the light on in my office and came to investigate," Scott told him angrily. "That guard never did like me for some reason; he always had it out for me. So when he showed up at the office door, I tried to run; he hit me with his baton. I fought back and punched him in the nose."_

"_So your breaking and entering turned into an assault charge," the man said. He spread his arms to indicate the cell and said, "And that's how you ended up here."_

"_Pretty much," Scott said dejectedly. "Now my life's pretty much over. My wife left me, my daughter's going to grow up without a father… all because of my stupid mistake."_

"_That's not the worst of it," the other man informed him, looking out through the bars into the hallway. "Seagate's a pretty rough prison. Don't want to get on the guards' bad side, or they can make your life hell. Even more than it already is, I mean."_

"_Just my luck," Scott muttered gloomily._

"_Hey, I'll watch your back if you'll watch mine," the other man said, standing up from his bed, stretching to his full height, and reaching out a hand to the smaller man._

_Scott looked at him warily for a minute before taking the hand. "The name's Scott Lang," he told him._

"_Luke Cage."_

* * *

Scott yawned and rolled out of bed. He preferred remembering the time he'd met Lukey to the last time he'd ever seen his daughter. _At least this time the dream didn't wake me up at four in the morning_, he thought, glancing at the clock. Almost seven. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, Scott stepped out of his motel room into the sweltering Atlanta heat. He glanced up and down the street, but didn't see anyone. He shut the door and walked across the street to the internet café. When he walked in, he saw that the same waitress was working the register again.

"Good morning again," the girl smiled.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"What'll it be this time, sir?" she asked.

"I'll take one of those sandwiches and a coffee," Scott pointed to the display. A minute later, she set a cup of coffee and a plate on the counter in front of him.

Scott picked up his coffee and sandwich and walked over to find a seat. He saw that the computer he'd used the previous morning was available again, so he sat back down there and hit the power button to turn it on. While the computer loaded, he took a bite of his breakfast sandwich and pulled the worn picture of Cassie out of his wallet. She was holding a teddy bear larger than herself and grinning widely. Scott tenderly ran his finger along the picture and smiled. Behind him, he heard the bell ring as another customer entered.

The computer beeped when it was fully warmed-up. Scott opened a browser window and logged in to his email account. Twenty new emails were waiting for him. His breakfast momentarily forgotten, he opened the first email: his application to Hammer Industries for their open computer programmer position had been rejected. The second was the same. All twenty emails were nearly the same. Scott slammed his fist on the table in frustration, spilling some of his coffee onto the floor. He put his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands, stifling a frustrated sob. In a way, we wasn't surprised they had all rejected him; no company human resources manager in his right mind would consider hiring an ex-con, especially one who had attempted to steal company secrets. Glancing down at the floor through his interlocked fingers, Scott saw that some of the coffee had landed on his sneakers. With a groan, he grabbed a couple napkins and ducked under the table to wipe the coffee off his shoes just as the bell rang again.

While he was under the table, he heard the waitress scream. He looked up and saw a woman with dark black hair tied back in a ponytail sitting on the other side of the café. He could see fear in her eyes and in the slight tremor in her hands, which she held above her head. She was looking at the counter. Wondering what was happening, Scott turned in that direction, following her gaze. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Scott saw a man standing at the counter wearing a black ski mask, dark clothing, and leather gloves. He held a handgun, and it was pointed at the waitress's forehead.

Scott suddenly felt himself tense up under the table. His breathing became shallow and he closed his eyes, trying to force his breathing to come back under control. _What the hell's going on!?_ he thought in a panic. _What do I do? He's going to kill her, and there's nothing I can do about it!_

He looked back at the counter and saw the gunman gesturing for the waitress to open the gate and step out from behind the counter. She didn't move.

"Do it now!" the gunman yelled, waving the gun in her face.

Scott watched her flinch back, tears running down her cheeks from her wide-open green eyes. Hesitantly, she unlatched the gate, lifted it up, and stepped through. "Please, don't kill me," she pleaded, hands held together in supplication.

"Oh, no," the gunman sneered, sticking the gun to her forehead roughly. "We have something much more special planned for you! Now, walk."

"No—please! Why—why are you doing this to me?" she cried, suddenly unable to move, feet planted where she stood.

"Move!" the gunman growled roughly, grabbing her shoulder and throwing her toward the door. She stumbled once and started shuffling hesitantly toward the door.

"Please don't do this!" she begged, turning her head to look back at the gunman. "I want my daddy!"

"Shut up," the gunman ordered, slapping her violently across the cheek. Her head spun back around as tears welled up. The gunman pushed the gun to the back of her head again and pushed her toward the door.

When the waitress called for her "daddy," Scott was suddenly thrown back to his phone call the day before. The girl in trouble was no longer a waitress in an internet café; it was his own daughter. With making a conscious decision, Scott knew what he had to do.

Slowly, quietly, Scott slid out of his booth. He started walking toward the café door. Before he'd crossed half the distance, the gunman noticed him, turned the gun on him, and said, "Not another step, or I'll kill you."

Scott stared into the man's cold, hard eyes without flinching. He put his hands up in a placating gesture, and said, "Hey, man, there's no need for this to get messy." Calmly, he took a couple more steps toward the gunman.

The gunman grabbed the girl's shoulder roughly with his left hand, pulled her over to interpose her between him and Scott, and jammed the gun barrel into the side of her head, drawing another sob of fear and pain from the girl. "I'm not warning you again," he threatened.

"Okay, just relax. See, I'm not coming any closer," Scott said, gesturing in a calming manner. "Let's see if we can talk this out—you and me." He lowered his hands down to his waist, and the gunman sneered, still pointing his gun at Scott's chest.

The gunman stared at Scott for a long moment, sizing him up. Finally, he took his eyes off of Scott for a moment and pushed the girl toward the door again. Suddenly, the moment he saw the man's distraction, Scott reached out and grabbed a salt shaker off the table to his right. In a single motion, he twisted the cap off with his thumb and forefinger. He saw the gunman start to turn his gun on him, and threw the contents of the salt shaker into the air in the gunman's direction.

Scott lunged forward just as he heard the gun go off. He felt a sudden pressure against his left arm, and simultaneously heard the man shout of surprise and pain as the cloud of salt caught him right in the eyes. He caught the man by surprise with his lunge, punched him in the side with his right fist, which was still clasped around the salt shaker, and felt his momentum carry the man to the floor. Scott let go of the salt shaker as he landed on the man's chest and quickly pushed himself up into a kneeling position, one knee on the floor and the other on the man's chest. With his left hand Scott pulled the gun out of the man's stunned hand and smoothly transferred it to his right hand. Kneeling over the gunman's prone form, his finger found the trigger and he shoved the gun up under the man's chin. Forcing his hands to stop shaking, he glared into the man's face and ordered him, "Don't move."

The waitress, who'd been knocked to the floor when Scott hit the man, pushed herself to her feet and stared down at them, her hands over her mouth in shock. Scott barely heard a pair of police officers running into the café at that moment. One officer slowly pulled the gun out of Scott's grip and helped him to his feet. The other officer forced the gunman to roll over onto his chest and roughly slapped handcuffs on his wrists. Satisfied, he looked up at his partner, who moved over to help him pull the prisoner up to his feet. Scott looked around the café and saw the other patron having an animated conversation on her cell phone. In his peripheral vision he dimly caught the waitress standing next to him and trying to talk to him, pointing at his left arm. Finally, Scott felt something wet running down his arm and dripping onto the tile floor. He looked down to see a bullet hole in his left bicep, and blood pouring out and a red stream running down his arm. He felt the adrenaline rush fade away, replaced by the hot, searing pain in his arm. He looked away as he fell backward into a chair that someone had placed behind him. He barely registered the paramedic who ran up and knelt in front of him.


	4. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"I can't thank you enough for saving my life," the waitress said with a beaming smile, sliding a plate across the counter to him. "You're my hero!"

It was two hours after the incident at the café, and Scott was sitting back at the counter nursing a glass of water. Though he had not lost consciousness, he could barely remember the ambulance ride to the hospital, or the surgery to remove the bullet and sew up the wound. When he had woken up after surgery, the doctor had told him he should stay in the hospital overnight for observation. Scott had refused to let the doctor admit him, however; the bills for a hospital stay would bankrupt him without health insurance or a job to pay for them. Taking pity on his situation, the doctor had agreed to allow Scott to check himself out against medical advice, and given him a free sample bottle of painkillers. Then he had ordered Scott to return the next day for a check-up, and called a cab for him.

Not ready to go back to his run-down motel room for the rest of the day, and not knowing anywhere else in the area, Scott had asked the cab driver to drop him off across from the motel at the café.

On seeing him at the door to the café, the police officer guarding the door had immediately moved to send him away. However, when he saw the sling on Scott's arm, he had realized who he was, nodded, and pulled up the crime scene tape to let him in. As soon as he was inside, Scott had walked over to the counter where he saw the waitress giving a statement to a police officer. On seeing him, the police officer had indicated for him to come over and sit down. After taking Scott's statement, the officer had left him alone at the counter with the waitress.

Now that he was back at the café where he'd been shot and finished giving his statement, Scott found himself seriously regretting leaving the hospital so quickly. Scott looked down at the plate in front of him, weakly picked up the Danish, and took a bite before setting it back down on the plate. He looked down at the counter absently for a minute and reached over to rub the bandage around his left bicep through the sling. He glanced back up to find the waitress still staring at him and waiting for a response. "Sorry," he finally said. "Those painkillers they gave me at the ER are starting to wear off."

The waitress silently reached under the counter and grabbed her purse. She reached in, pulled out a pill bottle, and tapped a pair of pills into her hand. "My name is Liz," she told him, offering the pills to him. "I'm a freshman at the University, just working at this place to help pay for books. You know, I picked Georgia because I wanted to get as far away from home as possible; I didn't realize Atlanta would be so dangerous!"

Scott accepted the pills gratefully, tossed them in his mouth, and took a swig from his water glass. "Scott," he responded, extending his hand to her. "Scott Lang."

Liz shook his hand with a smile and asked, "I don't mean to pry, but why did you do it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Scott.

"That man could have killed you; he shot you! Why would you risk your life just to protect a complete stranger?"

"Maybe it's because I like your coffee," Scott joked with a short laugh. He suddenly fell silent, thinking about a creased and worn picture of a smiling little girl. He looked down as his eyes started to water for a reason having nothing to do with pain. "Because of my daughter," he finally admitted.

"Oh?" Liz asked curiously.

"When you were begging the man not to hurt you, you said 'I want my daddy,'" Scott explained, avoiding her eyes. "When I talked to my wife on the phone yesterday, I heard my daughter say the exact same thing. Suddenly it wasn't a complete stranger who was in danger; it was a little girl—_my_ little girl."

"Well, thank you for doing what you did," Liz said. She turned and started to return to her work.

"She's six years old," Scott said quietly, seemingly oblivious to the young woman in front of him behind the counter, who stopped walking away and returned to stand opposite him at the counter. "She's six years old, and two-thirds of her life I've been out of the picture." He pulled the photograph out of his wallet and held it out.

Liz took the photo out of his hand and looked at it. "She looks really happy," she observed with a small smile, handing it back.

"That was one of the last times I saw her," Scott whispered. He sniffed and looked at the picture for a long minute himself.

"What happened?" Liz asked gently. Scott heard a squeak as she pulled a stool over and sat down across the counter from him.

"She got sick," Scott answered as he returned the picture to its place in his wallet. "It's a rare form of leukemia," he added, noticing the questioning look Liz was giving him. "The doctors did what they could, but none of the standard treatments would cure her. The best they could do was manage the symptoms and try to give her some more time while they tried to find an actual cure."

"That must've been difficult," Liz observed, looking him in the eye.

"You have no idea," responded Scott, turning away. "Medical bills piling up. Doctors' appointments. Hospital stays. She was only a year old when they diagnosed her, and this is the only life she's really known! She's barely had anything of a childhood! We were at the end of our rope with how to care for her…" He fell silent for a moment.

Finally, he collected himself and continued, "It was bad enough when I _had_ a job—it was long hours and stressful, but at least we had insurance and some income; what was I supposed to do when I got laid off? We couldn't afford her treatment on our own. Our health insurance was through the company policy; that ended the month I was laid off, and no companies would let us buy an individual policy; not with Cassie's preexisting condition."

Liz gasped. "That's terrible! What did you do?"

"Peggy wanted us to move back in with her parents so they could help us," Scott answered, "but I couldn't do that. I loved my in-laws, but I couldn't bear asking for handouts from them. We could never have all fit in their small house. There's no way we could have found a doctor in small-town Indiana to help her, much less cure her. And I'd never have found a job there!"

He cut off there, too ashamed to continue the story.

"This is the part where you don't see your daughter for four years, isn't it?" Liz observed astutely, noticing his reticence.

Scott turned and looked her in the face. He couldn't bear to see her face when she found out what her "hero" was. He turned away. "Yeah," he continued. "This is the part where I don't see my daughter for four years.

"I tried to steal from my company," he finally admitted. Even without looking at her face, he could feel the flinch. He looked up at her accusingly and demanded, "What was I supposed to do? They fired me, even with a sick kid! I had no other choice! I was only going to steal a program _I_ had created; the money from selling it would have been more than enough to pay for Cassie's treatments. I wasn't looking to get rich. I was only trying to save my daughter…"

"And you've spend the last four years in prison," Liz finished.

Numbly, Scott nodded. "Yeah," he whispered, burying his head in his hands. "My wife divorced me the day after I was convicted, and took Cassie back to Indiana anyways. When I called yesterday, she told me she's remarried. I don't know when I'll see my daughter again, if ever. All those job applications I sent out yesterday? Rejected. I have a bachelor's in computer programming from before prison. I earned master's degrees in computer programming and electronics engineering while _in_ prison! It didn't matter: No one will hire a computer programmer who tried to steal from his previous company. My life's ruined. _That_'s what your hero is, Liz: An ex-con with no family, no job, and no future."

"Scott, I don't think that's true," Liz said, gently putting a hand on his right forearm. "You made a single mistake. Sounds to me like you're a loving father who was in a desperate situation. You did what you did because you thought it was your only choice. It was the wrong thing to do. But that one bad choice does not have to define the rest of your life."

"I don't think I have a choice there," Scott muttered.

"There's always a choice," she responded firmly.

He numbly lifted his head and looked at her. He was surprised when instead of horror, he saw compassion in her eyes. "Maybe—I don't know. I'm sorry for dumping all of that on you," he said, looking away again.

"It's fine," she said, brushing the apology away. "You saved my life. I'm happy to listen; it's the least I can do for you. Actually," she said, starting to smile as the bell over the front door rang, "I think there may be one other thing I can do for you."

"That's my daughter in there!" a man shouted. "You have to let me see her!"

Scott turned in time to catch sight over his shoulder of a man pushing past the police officer at the door and ducking under the crime scene tape. "Elizabeth!" the man cried, running toward the counter. "I was so worried when I heard the news on the radio. Thank God you are safe!"

Liz grinned broadly. She stood up from her stool, opened the gate, and ran through it. She threw her arms around the man's neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed, "Daddy!"

Scott turned around and watched the two hug, his mind wandering back to the last time he'd hugged his own daughter, when he tucked her into bed the night he broke into the office. The man wore a sharp blue pinstriped business suit. His black hair was streaked with gray. Next to his feet some papers had spilled out of the worn brown briefcase he had dropped to the floor when his daughter had thrown herself into his arms.

"It's a good thing my conference was this week so I was here," the father said, not letting go of his daughter.

Liz broke away from her father a minute later and pulled him over to the counter. "Daddy," she said, gesturing toward Scott, "this is Scott Lang. He's the man who saved my life."

The man held his hand out to Scott and said, "John Byrne. Thank you so much for saving my daughter's life. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been here."

Scott took the extended hand and rose to his feet. "It was nothing. I'm just glad I was able to help."

"It looks like it was more than just nothing," John Byrne responded, nodding toward the bandage covering Scott's bicep.

"Please, sir, it was no trouble," Scott assured him, touching his arm self-consciously. "I'm a father myself; I know how horrible it feels to see my daughter hurt and in pain. I'm just glad I saved you from that pain."

"Even still, I don't know how I can thank you for what you did," John Byrne said, clasping Scott's hand with both of his. "And at the risk of your own life, too."

"Please," Scott insisted, pulling his hand out of the man's grip in embarrassment. "I really didn't do anything special. I—I think I need to get going now. It was nice meeting you, John." Scott grabbed his half-eaten pastry, walked out of the café, and crossed the street to return to his room without looking back.


	5. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks to jakefan, Qweb, and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. I'm glad someone caught the reference with "John Byrne;" you'll notice that a lot of the names I use (particularly for original characters) actually come from those involved in some way, shape, or form with the creation of that particular character. There are also quite a few references to people or organizations within the Marvel Universe (one of those is in this chapter). Also, I realize that in the comics Cassie had a heart condition, but I decided to change it to leukemia for the sake of this story.

* * *

Around 7:30 the next morning, Scott glanced out his motel window and saw that the police tape had been taken down and the café was open again. After showering and dressing, he walked across the street to the café and stepped inside. The first thing he saw was Liz speaking very animatedly with her father at the counter. Feeling embarrassed, he started to open the door again to leave, but Liz looked up, saw him by the door, and waved him over.

"What'll it be this morning, Scott?" she asked, smiling and holding a coffee cup out to him.

Scott took the cup, looked at the menu, and decided, "I'll take one of those omelets."

"It'll be out in a couple minutes," Liz smiled.

Scott reached into his pocket for his wallet, but before he could take it out, Liz told him, "It's on the house."

"Thanks," Scott responded with a hesitant smile. He took his mug and went over to sit down in a booth. No sooner had he slid in than John Byrne strode over and sat down opposite him.

"My daughter told me some of your story," Byrne began. "I want to do something for you, to thank you for saving my Lizzy from that man."

Scott was silent, wondering what the man would do. At that moment, Liz walked over to their table with two plates. She set a western-style omelet in front of Scott, and an egg sandwich in front of her father. As soon as she had refilled their coffee cups, she smiled to them and returned to the register.

"You don't know it, but I'm the head of human resources for a major weapons manufacturer," Byrne informed him. "When Lizzy told me your story, I decided to go back and do some checking. I found the resume you sent my company two days ago." He pulled a couple sheets of paper of out his briefcase and began reading: "'Bachelor's degree in computer programming. Two master's degrees, one in computer programming and the other in electronics engineering. Worked five years for Cross Technological Enterprises as a computer programmer.' Based on all that alone, we would have hired you on the spot," he observed. "Until we read a little further down, did our standard background check, and found this: 'Convicted of breaking and entering and assault against a security guard at Cross Technological Enterprises. Sentenced to six years in Seagate Penitentiary; served four before being released on parole.' Our employment policy is to reject any applicants with a criminal record, no exceptions."

"I understand," Scott acknowledged, resignedly. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'm not done yet," Byrne said, holding up his hand. "I said we do not make exceptions, but you saved my girl's life, so I'm willing to give you a chance."

"I'll take it!" Scott exclaimed.

"It's not a job offer," cautioned Byrne, holding up a hand, "It's a chance to convince me that I should take a chance on you. Given your criminal record, why should I hire you?"

Scott leaned back in the booth and thought for a minute, choosing his words carefully. "'When your life is defined by a single action, it changes the concept of time,'" Scott quoted eventually.

"Excuse me?" asked Byrne, confused.

"From the movie _Felon_," Scott explained. "We watched it last year at one of our prison movie nights. I didn't understand what it meant until now. When I got locked up, I'd had two years with my daughter, and I tried to steal because I thought it would give me more time with her. Instead, I lost four years with her. Now, she's still sick, and my wife's turned against me because of what I did. The rest of my life will be defined by that single mistake I made.

"Should you take a chance on me? I don't know. But what I do know is that this job could be what I need to get my daughter back, get her the treatment she needs. If you give me this opportunity, I will not do anything to jeopardize it."

Byrne looked at Scott for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Son," he finally said, breaking into a wide smile, "you've convinced me. I'll give you a chance, but not as a computer programmer. At least not yet. We have an opening for a security guard on the graveyard shift, so I'll start you off there, and let you work your way up. Prove to me that I can trust you with this responsibility, and I'll give you a shot at greater responsibility, maybe even getting you a job as a programmer." He held out his hand across the table.

"Wait, graveyard shift?" Scott said disappointedly. "I couldn't do that; if my daughter did come to live with me, who would watch her at night while I'm at work? My ex would never even consider that."

"I'd watch her for you," interrupted Liz, who had come over to refill Scott's coffee cup for the third time.

"What?" both men said simultaneously, turning to stare at her with nearly identical looks of surprise.

"I've actually given it some thought," she said. "Going home, I mean," she added, seeing her father's look of bemusement.

"Why would you do that?" her father asked incredulously. "I thought you loved it here."

"I thought I did, too," Liz answered, "but that was before some psycho tried to abduct me and do who-knows-what to me! After that, I don't think I want to be 2000 miles from home anymore."

"But what about school?" he asked.

"I filled out the paperwork yesterday to transfer to UCLA. The admissions counselor there said since I was accepted last year, it wouldn't be a problem to transfer before next semester provided my grades are high this semester," she replied, sliding into the booth next to her father. "I talked to my professors yesterday afternoon, and they all agreed to let me finish the rest of my assignments by email."

"But—"

"Daddy, it's okay," she interrupted gently. "I want to go home. And since I'm going to be in LA," she added, turning toward Scott, "I would be happy to nanny your daughter while you're at work."

"But why would you be so willing to basically move in with me—a complete stranger—to take care of my daughter?" Scott asked, still surprised.

"You saved my life," Liz answered simply. "I owe you at least this much. Now if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work, even if I'm quitting in a couple days." She smiled as she stood up and walked away.

Scott watched her walk away, still surprised by the sudden turn of events. Finally, he sat up and grinned. "Well, in that case, I accept. Thank you so much, sir!" he exclaimed, shaking Byrne's offered hand with both of his. "You won't regret this!"

"I sure hope I won't," responded Byrne, still smiling. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of paper. "Here's your contract. Read it over and sign it. You start next week, but I'll expedite your benefits so your health insurance starts retroactively to yesterday to cover your hospital bills. It's the least I can do, considering why you were _in_ the hospital in the first place!"

Scott read through the contract quickly before signing it and handing it back. "What is the coverage like for the health insurance plan?" Scott asked. "I mean… I'm sure your daughter told you about my daughter's situation." Getting a nod in reply, Scott continued, "Will it cover my daughter's treatments?"

"Absolutely," Byrne nodded. "We offer one of the most comprehensive and competitive health insurance plans in the country. In fact, office visits to any doctor in the Los Angeles area, including some of the best cancer specialists in the world, are completely covered by insurance apart from a small copay. Hospital bills are almost entirely covered, as are many specialized procedures. Of course," he chuckled, "I think most of that is for the CEO's benefit, but we all still get to take advantage!"

"This is all so surreal," Scott said in amazement. "I—I don't know what to say."

"Believe me, after you saved my daughter, I only hope that this will help you save your own daughter as well."

"Yes, sir," Scott responded. "I can't wait to tell her!"

"Welcome to Stark Industries, Mr. Lang."

* * *

"Peggy, I got a job!" Scott shouted excitedly into the payphone across the street from the café.

"With your record?" Peggy asked incredulously. "I didn't think you'd ever get a decent job."

"It's not in programming or engineering to start, but it's a good job and will pay my bills," Scott replied. "Peggy, this job comes with amazing health insurance. I could take Cassie to any doctor in LA practically for free. It would pay her medical bills almost in full."

"You want me to let you have Cassie," Peggy said stiffly.

"Peggy, you told me yourself that none of the doctors in Lafayette can cure her. Two days ago you said you'd brought her to the specialists in Chicago, and none of them could cure her. I've been told that LA has some of the best cancer specialists in the world; one of them is bound to know what to do," Scott responded passionately. "This could be our only chance of finding someone who can finally cure her. Besides, I—I lost you, and I lost four years of Cassie's life. I'm not trying to steal her away from you; I just want to try to regain some of that time I lost! Please?"

"What's your new job?" asked Peggy abruptly.

"Ironically enough, I'm starting off as a security guard on the graveyard shift, but the HR director said he would monitor my work and possibly give me a shot at working with electronics if I prove to him that he can trust me," Scott answered.

"Graveyard shift, huh?" Peggy demanded. "What are you going to do, leave our daughter at home alone every night? Bring her to work _with_ you? A six year old girl? No chance I'm letting her live with you."

"Don't worry about that; I've already got a nanny lined up who agreed to stay with her at night," Scott responded dismissively. "I'm sure Cassie will love her."

"And this is all above board, right? It's not like you're going to be working for drug dealers or something, right?"

"Of course it's above board; I'll be working for Stark Industries," Scott answered. "Peggy, it's okay. Nothing bad will happen to her if you let her live with me; in fact, something very good might happen."

"Well—I don't know—I guess so?" Peggy stammered weakly. "But you have to promise that she gets to come visit me at least once a month, okay? I'd ask for more, but I don't want her flying more than that."

"Absolutely," Scott readily agreed. "Now, can I talk to her?"

He heard some rustling on the other end of the receiver as Peggy put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Cassie! Can you come to the phone, sweetie?" he heard Peggy call.

A young voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Cassie," Scott choked. "It's your father."

"Daddy? Daddy!" shouted Cassie happily. "I've missed you, daddy."

"I know, bumblebee," Scott answered. He couldn't say anything for a moment. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "I've missed you, too. How are you feeling?"

"Really tired," she responded. "I want to go outside and play, but mommy doesn't let me very often. I don't like going to the doctors."

"I know, honey. But maybe the doctors can make it better."

"I still don't like them," she pouted. "Will I get to see you soon?"

"Cassie, how would you like to come and live with me?" Scott asked nervously.

"Live with you? In our old house? I'd love it! Can I, can I?"

"Your mom said it would be okay, but we won't be living in our old house," Scott replied, smiling. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"Where will we live?" Cassie wondered.

"We'll live in California," Scott answered. "Do you want to live with me in California?"

"I'd love to! When can I move in? Will we have a big house? Will I have a lot of friends?" she asked rapidly. Suddenly she stopped before asking worriedly, "Will I have to go to a lot of doctors?"

"Well, I'll come and pick you up in a day or two, we'll fly to Los Angeles, and move into our new home the same day. We won't have a big house, but we'll have plenty of space. I don't know about a lot of friends, but you'll have at least one," Scott answered with a grin.

"You?"

"Well, me, and another friend, named Miss Liz," Scott replied. "She'll be living with us and watching you while I'm at work."

"Is she nice?"

"Yes, she's very nice," Scott smiled.

"Okay, daddy! I can't wait!"

"Me neither, sweetie," Scott replied. "Me neither."

* * *

Two men met in a secluded conference room. One, wearing a dark blue three-piece suit and standing at the head of the conference table, held a folded-up newspaper under his right arm. The other wore a black combat uniform. He sat stock still, staring into the polished wood tabletop.

The first man pulled the newspaper out from under his arm, snapped it open, and held it out in front of the other man's face. "Your 'surefire success' made front-page news: 'Hero Ex-Con Saves Co-Ed,'" the man in the suit read. He slammed his fist down on the table. "Does that sound like a _success_ to you?"

"No, sir," the other man answered dejectedly.

"I want you to find another way to get what we want," the suit ordered. "Whatever it takes."


	6. Chapter 5

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"Welcome home, Cassie!" Scott said, letting go of his daughter's hand, dropping his duffel, and sweeping his arms out to take in the whole apartment. "What do you think?"

"It's huge," Cassie answered, six-year-old eyes open wide. Her long blond pigtails whipped around her face as she looked around the apartment in awe.

"That's because the furniture hasn't arrived yet," Scott smiled. He knelt down in front of Cassie and put his hands on her shoulders. "We have a few minutes before Miss Liz gets here, and I have something I want to tell you:

"I'm sorry for being out of your life for so long, Cassie. I'm going to try to make up for that in any way I can. I'm really glad you decided to come out here with me." He wiped away a tear.

Cassie threw her arms around her father's neck and said, "I love you, daddy."

"I love you, too, sweetie," Scott whispered, wrapping his arms around his daughter's small body, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks. "I love you, too."

"May I come in?" a voice asked from the doorway. Scott turned around and saw Liz standing there holding a suitcase in one hand, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She smiled awkwardly and added, "Hi, Scott. I hope I'm not interrupting or anything."

"Oh, no," Scott answered, letting his daughter go and standing up straight. He wiped his tears on his sleeve and said, "Liz, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Cassie. Cassie, this is Miss Liz. She's the friend I told you about who's going to be staying with us and watching you while I'm at work."

"Hi, Miss Lizzy," Cassie said shyly. She looked down at her feet and hid behind her father's legs.

"Hi, Cassie," Liz smiled, squatting down to the girl's eye level and looking at her around Scott's legs. "I'm really glad to meet you. I hope we can be friends."

Cassie looked out from behind Scott's legs and quietly replied, "I hope so, too."

"Sorry there isn't any furniture yet," Scott told Liz, who stood back up. "The soonest they could deliver is tomorrow morning."

"Not a problem at all," Liz smiled, looking around the apartment. "Which room is mine?"

"This one is mine," Scott pointed. "The little one right here is Cassie's, and you get to sleep outside."

In response to Liz's blank look, Scott groaned and said, "Please tell me that you've seen _Shrek_. Cassie made us watch it almost every day after we gave it to her on her first birthday. Your bedroom is the one over there."

"Thanks," she said, walking into the indicated bedroom. She came out a minute later and announced, "Well, I need to go to the university library, and then I'm going to stay the night at my parents' house since they actually have furniture!" She smiled and added, "I'll be back bright and early tomorrow."

"That's fine," Scott nodded. "Have a good evening."

"Bye, Miss Lizzy," Cassie said shyly, looking up from her toys.

"Goodbye, Miss Cassie," Liz replied with a smile, walking out the door and closing it behind her.

"So, what do we want to do tonight, Cassie?" Scott asked, sitting down next to his daughter on the floor.

"Can we play a game?"

"That sounds great, sweetie. What game do you want to play?"

* * *

After the movers delivered and arranged the furniture the next morning, Scott sat down at the new kitchen table with Cassie and Liz. "I'm going to take Cassie to her new elementary school today to get her enrolled. I'll probably also have to sign something authorizing you to pick her up just in case I can't make it some afternoon."

Liz nodded in understanding. "That's fine. I don't have any classes before 9 next semester, so I can drop her off in the morning. I also arranged my schedule so I won't have any classes after 3, just in case I need to watch her. If you need me to pick her up, just give me a call some time before 3."

"And if you need me, don't call until _after_ 3," Scott laughed. "I'm going to start changing my sleep schedule tonight to prepare for working nights. My orientation at Stark Industries is tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll make sure I'm here to watch her, then."

* * *

"Okay, we're all set, Mr. Lang," the principal said, looking at his school enrollment paperwork. "Cassie can start school next Monday."

"Thank you, Principal Freeman," Scott replied, shaking her hand.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes, actually," Scott nodded. "I'm going to be working the graveyard shift at Stark Industries, and there may be times when I am unable to pick Cassandra up from school in the afternoon."

"Is there someone else who can pick her up?" the principal asked.

"Yes, her nanny will be available to pick her up," Scott answered. "Is there a form I need to fill out to permit her to pick Cassie up?"

"Yes, it's right here," the principal replied, holding a piece of paper out. "You need to sign it, write in Cassie's name and the nanny's name, and then have the nanny sign it also. Cassie can bring it to the office on Monday."

"That sounds great," Scott said. "Thank you, though I hope I will never need to use it."

"Not a problem," the principal smiled. "You're not the first parent who can't pick your child up from school, and you won't be the last!"

* * *

"Daddy, do I _have_ to go to school?" Cassie, who had been quiet during their entire visit at the school, whined when they were back in the car on their way home.

"Of course, bumblebee," Scott smiled, glancing over at her. "That way you can have fun and make friends and learn everything you need to learn."

"School is stupid," Cassie pouted, looking away.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

"What?" Cassie replied, looking back at her father.

"Miss Lizzy is still in school," Scott told her.

"Really?" Cassie asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes, she'll be going to school at the same time that you're in school."

"But, she's old!"

"She's only 18," Scott laughed.

"That's old," Cassie replied, folding her arms.

"Do you want to know something else?" Scott laughed, looking down at her.

"What?"

"While I was gone, _I_ was in school, too," Scott said.

"_You_, Daddy?"

"Yup, I was in school. And if you want to be big and smart like me and Miss Lizzy, you need to go to school, too. Okay, Cassie?"

"I guess, Daddy," Cassie sighed. She looked out the window for a minute and then turned back to Scott. "If Miss Lizzy's old, then that makes you _ancient_, Daddy!" she giggled.

"You have no idea, bumblebee. You have no idea…"

* * *

"_Luke… why are those guys over there looking at us funny?" Scott whispered glancing across the prison yard. Scott had been in prison for six months. "I don't think they like us."_

"_They're staring at me, Lang," Luke muttered back. "Aryan Nation… They don't like any of the black prisoners."_

"_Then why are they glaring at me like that?" Scott asked. "Maybe you haven't realized, but… I'm not actually black!"_

"_You're hanging with me, so they assume you're with me, not them."_

"_Hey, nigga-lova," one of the Aryans called across the prison yard, looking directly at Scott, "get over here!"_

"_Luke…" Scott muttered._

"_Don't worry."_

"_Don't make us wait all day!" the Aryan shouted again._

_Scott slowly crossed the prison yard toward the cluster of Aryan Nation prisoners. He tried to ignore the stares of the other inmates. A few were playing basketball on the court at the end of the yard, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that all but one had stopped their game to watch his slow walk over to where the Aryans were waiting._

"_You called?" Scott said, putting on a show of bravado, when he reached where the Aryans were grouped together._

"_You seem pretty tight with that black guy," the one who seemed to be their leader observed, watching Scott's face closely._

"_He's my cellmate. What of it?" Scott retorted._

"_Prison can be a dangerous place…" one of the other Aryans snickered._

_Scott was silent._

"_Here's the deal, Lang," the leader began. "You need some protection inside. We can give it to you. But you need to do something for us first, show us we should take you in."_

_Scott remained silent, listening._

"_You're going to take your cellmate out," the leader ordered. "When you do, we'll arrange for you to have a _good_ cellmate instead. You do this, you won't have any trouble the rest of your stay."_

"_And if I don't?" Scott asked, glancing around himself furtively._

"_Let's just say that prison can be a dangerous place and leave it at that," the leader smirked. "You're either with us, or you're against us. But you'd better choose carefully."_

_Scott was frozen in place. He couldn't move. He felt one of the Aryans take a step closer to him and whisper in his ear, "Make your choice, buttercup."_

_When Scott didn't say anything or move, a couple of the other Aryans shifted a pace closer. Scott felt his last avenue of escape close behind him. Trying to hide his panic, he looked around himself for help. He felt momentary relief when he saw a prison guard walking across the yard toward their cluster._

_Seeing where Scott was looking, the leader sneered and said, "Are you expecting some help from Officer Rackham over there?" Without waiting for a response, he added, "Don't worry. He's not on his way over to break up this little… 'social gathering.' He's coming over to keep the other C.O.s away."_

Damn it_, Scott thought. On the outside he was careful to keep his expression neutral, to not show them how scared he felt._

_The shank appeared out of nowhere. Before Scott could shout, one of the men next to him pulled a sharpened toothbrush out of nowhere and stabbed it at his side. Scott's mouth came open to shout, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to come._

_Instead, he heard a muffled _oomph_ from one of the men to his left, followed by the sound of a skull hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. He opened his eyes to see what looked like a black mountain standing next to him, the sunlight glinting brightly off a shaven head._

_Luke Cage let out a bellow, baring his fists at the crowd of Aryans, who slowly backed away, forming a tight ring around Luke, Scott, and the semiconscious man at their feet. A couple produced makeshift prison shanks. The leader stepped out of the circle toward them. The group closed ranks behind him._

"_So, I take it you've made your choice, Lang," the leader said, surprisingly quietly, turning a shank over and over in his hand._

"_Yeah, I guess I have," Scott replied, opening and closing his fists._

"_You're gonna regret this decision," he answered ominously. Then he lunged._

_It was over before Scott could react. Before the leader even touched Scott, Luke reached out a massive fist and grabbed the man by the shoulder. Luke lifted him off his feet, swung him around once, and threw him into the crowd of men surrounding them. The ones he hit fell to the ground in a heap, with him on top of them. The others looked around at each other uneasily once before backing away._

_The leader pushed himself up onto his knees and wheezed, "You're _both_ gonna regret this."_

_Scott looked back at him for a long moment. Then he glanced over at Luke quickly. Turning back toward the Aryan Nation leader, Scott took one step and, before he could rethink the decision, he kneed the man in the chin, knocking him back to the ground._


	7. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. I do actually have the whole story written; it's 31 chapters total, and I'm publishing 1 every day. I apologize for not posting yesterday; I will try to get chapter 7 up later this evening to make up for it.

* * *

"Welcome to Stark Industries, Mr. Lang," the security manager said, holding his hand out.

Scott took the hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you. I'm glad to be here," he replied. He looked around the high-tech security room in amazement.

"Pretty impressive, right?" the manager said, noticing his look. He grinned proudly and explained, "This facility has the most state-of-the-art security center in the state: Our monitors sweep the cameras located at all the entrances, along the outermost hallways, and in the parking structure. We have biometric locks on the most sensitive labs and offices. Security checkpoints at the entrances as well as protecting the secure areas. Our guards sweep the entire perimeter at night on an hourly cycle, with backup in the building. This is practically a fortress. And all of it is coordinated through this room."

"It's incredible," Scott observed. "So where do I start?"

The manager answered, "First, I'm going to give you a tour of the areas we are responsible for. Then, we'll get your uniform. Finally, you get to meet the rest of the night shift."

"Damn it," one of the technicians monitoring the computers muttered, just loudly enough for Scott and the manager to hear.

"What's the matter? Computer acting up again?" the manager asked, walking over to the offending computer.

"It's shorting out again," the tech explained. "Every few minutes the view gets fuzzy for a few seconds."

"Submit another work order," the manager ordered resignedly. "We'll get technical support down here in the morning to take a look."

"Would you mind if I looked at it?" Scott asked, walking over to stand next to the manager.

"You know computers?" the manager turned toward him. He indicated the computer and said, "Be my guest, though we never take the security computers offline at night."

"Won't be a problem," Scott chuckled. He indicated the pile of old computer hardware against the opposite wall under a table. "Bring that CPU over, along with those wires and connectors."

The tech got up and brought the requested materials over. Scott set the old CPU next to the malfunctioning one, plugged it in, turned it on, and started attaching wires between the two. He connected an Ethernet cord from one computer to the other, and then another one from the wall to the old CPU.

"This old CPU will take over what the malfunctioning one was doing without any break in coverage," Scott explained, typing a few lines of code into the malfunctioning computer. Satisfied, he pressed "Enter." The malfunctioning CPU shut down as the old CPU took over monitoring the security cameras. Scott unattached the malfunctioning CPU from the wall, monitor, and other CPU, and brought it over to another table. He started the computer up and attached a spare monitor and keyboard. The malfunctioning computer booted up slowly, and once it had Scott typed in some lines of code and ran a few diagnostic programs. Satisfied with the results, he started typing computer code furiously into a new command prompt window. While he was typing, the view on the monitor started shaking.

"I found a virus embedded in the RAM, but it's gone now," Scott eventually announced, looking up from the screen. "As far as the shaking view, the problem isn't with the software on the computer. It's probably with the output to the monitor."

"Can you fix that?" the manager asked, giving him a calculating look.

"Not a problem," Scott replied, shutting down the computer. As soon as the computer had finished turning off, he turned the CPU around, pulled his multi-tool out of his pocket, and started unscrewing the housing on the back of the CPU. When it was off, he located the monitor output. He detached the connector and examined it closely. Satisfied, he opened the back of another spare CPU and removed its output connector. Finally, he replaced the malfunctioning connector with the new one and screwed it in. As he was returning the CPU casing to its place, he happened to look inside and see an unfamiliar component attached to the motherboard. After carefully grounding himself with a wire, he reached in with the multi-tool and gently pulled the unfamiliar chip off.

"What is that?" the manager asked, staring at the circuit with a confused expression on his face.

"I'm not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it doesn't belong on the motherboard," Scott replied, examining the circuit closely. He turned it over in his palm and tested its weight.

After watching Scott examine the chip for a few minutes, the manager cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'm going to go report this situation up the ladder. If you could…" he indicated the other computers.

"Sure, no problem, boss," Scott agreed, setting the chip down on the table beside him.

"Okay, I will return in a bit, and then we'll get on with your tour of the facility," the manager told him nervously, backing out the door. All of the technicians in the room glanced at each other nervously and quickly excused themselves as well. Soon Scott was alone with the computers.

* * *

Scott had just finished examining all of the computers in the security center when the manager returned two hours later, followed by a pair of detectives. They were followed by a pair of additional Stark Industries security guards, who took positions on either side of the door.

"I checked all of the computers and found these devices in about half of them," Scott reported, holding up a handful of circuits and indicated the affected computers. "I don't know what they are for, but they look like a much more advanced version of a key logger."

"How did you find them?" one of the detectives asked, holding out an evidence bag.

Scott dumped them into the bag and answered, "The monitor on that computer over there was acting up, and I was trying to fix it. I determined that the problem was with the output connector, and after I'd finished replacing the damaged one, I happened to glance at the motherboard while I was replacing the cover on the back of the CPU. This piece of hardware caught my eye, I pulled it out, and realized it was not something that belonged there."

"We'll need to look into this," the other detective told the security manager. "We'll let you know what we find."

After the detectives left, the manager turned to Scott and said, "Mr. Lang, shall we take that tour now?"

Scott quietly followed the manager out of the security center. As soon as they were out of earshot of the security center, the manager asked, "How did you know how to do that?"

Scott let out a sigh and debated what to do. He could lie to the manager, though the lie could be found out. He could tell the truth, but then the manager would press to know why a man with two master's degrees was working as a security guard. For as understanding as Mr. Byrne was, Scott didn't know if the security manager would appreciate having an ex-con working the night shift. At a loss for what to do, Scott was silent.

Eventually, he made his decision. "I have a master's degree in computer programming," he began resignedly. "Actually, I have two, one in computer programming and one in electronics engineering."

"But with your qualifications, why are you—?"

"Because I earned them in prison," Scott interrupted with a humorless laugh. "Who's going to hire an ex-con? _I_ wouldn't."

"We have a strict policy against hiring ex-cons. How'd you get this job?" the manager asked suspiciously.

"I convinced Mr. Byrne he could trust me. He said he would let me start off here and that if I proved myself, he would move me on to something more in line with my qualifications," Scott explained plainly.

"I'm sure there's more to it than that," the manager observed, stopping and looking Scott square in the eye. Seeing Scott's reticence, he continued, "but I suppose I don't need to know.

"I trust John Byrne's judgment; you certainly convinced _me_ back there, especially with the way you fixed the computer _and_ uncovered those circuit-things. After that, I don't care if you're an ex-con; I'm glad to have you working for me. Tell you what: I'll pay you overtime if you will handle all of the security department's technical problems. I hate having to call in the geek snobs every time a computer freezes up; I'd much rather be able to take care of it all in-house. You willing to do that?"

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

"Excellent," the manager smiled. He turned and started walking down the corridor. Scott hurried to catch up to him. "If you look to your left, this here is the security break room. The showers and locker room are through that door on the other end. We have a pot of coffee brewing at all times; it's automated, so it will automatically brew a fresh pot on the hour or when the pot is empty. No tar-like swill for _us_!"

The manager walked a little further down the hall and placed his hand on a palm reader recessed into the wall. The reader turned green momentarily, and a crack appeared in the wall. The crack slid apart a couple feet, just far enough for a man to walk in. Inside, Scott could see rows of weapons securely stored in specially-designed slots. "This is the security armory. Handguns, rifles, shotguns… we could fight off an invasion by a small third-world country with our armory." He turned to Scott and asked, "Do you have a felony on your record?"

"Mr. Byrne talked with my new LA parole officer and vouched for me. My parole officer agreed to sign off on giving me a concealed carry permit," Scott answered.

"Good," the manager nodded, pulling the nearest Smith and Wesson M & P .357 Sig. out of its recessed slot in the wall. "Put your palm on the reader," he instructed. When Scott did so, the palm reader blinked blue twice before turning green. The manager handed the gun over to him along with a clip and said, "This is now your service weapon. It stays in the armory when you're not on duty, and on your person when you are. Standard procedure is to use nonlethal means if possible, lethal force if necessary. You are expected to practice on the shooting range in the basement with your service weapon at least an hour each week. The first hour is paid; the rest we just pay for the ammo. You should also practice with one of the other weapons just in case."

Scott returned the gun to its place in the armory and stepped out. As soon as he and the manager were out, the door slid shut automatically. Scott hurried after the manager down the hall toward the exit. The two walked out of the security building and toward the main Stark Industries building.

* * *

After the manager showed Scott around the other Stark Industries buildings, they walked along the perimeter fence. Scott looked around himself carefully, trying to remember how everything looked in the daylight. Finally, they returned to the security building.

The security manager led Scott into his office and handed him a box. "Here are your security uniforms, along with mace, taser, flashlight, radio, holster, belt, and badge. Your ID card will be printed out and waiting for you at the gate when you arrive tomorrow night. Do you have any questions?"

Scott opened the box and pulled out the contents to inspect them. Satisfied, he returned them to the box and closed it up. He looked back up at the manager and thought for a moment. "No, sir," he finally said. "But I do want to thank you for still giving me this opportunity, even after finding out what I am."

The security manager looked back at him for a long moment. He slowly answered, "Lang, I decided not to make a fuss about your record _because_ of what you are."

"Sir?"

"Scott, what you are is a good man," he said. "Smart. A problem-solver. Surprising as it sounds, I would even consider you to be honest; you wouldn't have gotten this job in the first place if John Byrne didn't think you were an honest man and could be trusted. Finding out that you spent some time in prison doesn't change that immediate impression of you. It just means you get to be my personal security department computer tech!"


	8. Chapter 7

AN: Thanks to Qweb, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, and jakefan for reviewing chapter 6. Eric O'Gradyis not going to appear in this story, but perhaps he will show up in my next Ant-Man story. I apologize for not posting this last night; none of the airports I was in had free wi-fi. I will publish chapter 8 later today.

* * *

The next afternoon, Scott picked Cassie up from school at exactly 3:15.

"Daddy!" Cassie shouted, running to the car, jumping into the front seat, and throwing her arms around her father's neck. "Today we learned about shapes and we played with blocks and I played house with Bobby and we went outside and ran around and played soccer and—"

"I'm glad to see you, too, Cassie," Scott interrupted her with a smile, giving his daughter a kiss on the cheek. He looked down at the finger painting in his daughter's hand. "What is that?"

"This is me and mommy and you!" Cassie beamed. She pulled another one out and said, "This one right here is Miss Lizzy and me playing dolls.

"Are we going to go home now so I can play dolls with Miss Lizzy?" Cassie asked excitedly. "This morning when she dropped me off, she said we could play dolls and go to the park after school!"

"That sounds like fun, but first we have to go see the doctor," Scott replied. He pulled out of the school parking lot and turned right.

"But I hate the doctor," Cassie pouted, folding her arms sulkily.

Scott responded, "You haven't met this doctor yet. Maybe this doctor will be nice and give you a lollipop."

"Yuck," Cassie retorted, making a face.

"Well, maybe this will be the last doctor you need to see."

"I hope so," Cassie muttered.

* * *

"I've gone over all of Cassie's medical records with a fine-toothed comb," the doctor announced, walking out of his office and hour later. "I've also done all the tests I can on Cassie and taken some blood samples to send out to the lab."

"And…?" Scott pressed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lang, but I don't know what I can try that all the oncologists she's seen haven't done," the doctor told him. "I'm just a pediatrician; I'm not an oncologist. But here's a prescription for Cassie's hematological degradation inhibitors, and one for her Accutane."

"Thank you, doctor," Scott said disappointedly. He took the two slips of paper, folded them, and slid them into his pocket. "I realize you are not an oncologist; I was mostly hoping you could give us a referral to a specialist."

"I can certainly do that for you. Actually," the doctor began, writing instructions on his prescription pad. "I do know of one possible treatment you can try. It's a homeopathic remedy; a few years back a couple researchers suggested it might have an effect in difficult cancer cases. It's a tea made from arnica and green tea brewed to double strength. Have her inhale the aroma for five minutes and then drink it with a teaspoon of honey every night before bed."

"I'll give it a try," Scott said hopefully. "I guess it can't hurt." He took the offered paper and put it into the same pocket with Cassie's prescriptions.

"This hasn't been scientifically proven beyond that one study," the doctor cautioned, holding up a hand.

"I realize that, but at this point I'll take any hope you can give me," Scott responded.

The doctor started writing on his pad again and said, "I can give you a referral to a cancer specialist. Here is the contact information for Dr. David Michelinie. The referral form is underneath. I refer all of my cancer patients to him; he's the best general oncologist I know in the LA area, and possibly in the country. He is also one of the most well-connected doctors in the area. If he can't cure Cassie himself, and there is someone in the area who can, he will know who."

"I will give him a call," replied Scott, pocketing all of the papers. He shook the doctor's hand and said, "Thank you very much for all your help."

"I will call David and tell him to expect your call," the doctor answered. "Let me know how it turns out."

"I will."

* * *

"How did the doctor's appointment go?" Liz asked, looking up from her book. She was stretched out on the couch and surrounded by books. Her computer sat on the coffee table in front of her.

"Hi, Miss Lizzy!" Cassie called, running over to the couch. Liz picked her up and sat her down on the couch next to her. Cassie unzipped her backpack and started pulling her paintings out

Scott stepped into the living room and folded his arms. He smiled while he watched Cassie show off her paintings. Finally, he broke out of his reverie and said, "The pediatrician referred us to an oncologist. He's supposed to be one of the best, so there's that. He also told me about a homeopathic remedy that's supposed to help cancer patients with particularly difficult cases."

"Who's the oncologist?" Liz asked curiously.

"A 'David Michelinie,'" Scott replied, reading off the contact information.

"The name sounds familiar," Liz thought. "I think he might have been the oncologist that my mom saw a few years back when she thought she might have cancer. I remember he was really nice."

"I hope so," Scott answered.

"Miss Lizzy, can we go to the park now? Please, please, please, please, please?" Cassie begged.

"Ask your Daddy," Liz smiled, nodding toward Scott.

"Daddy, can Miss Lizzy and me go to the park now? Please, please, please, please, please?" Cassie begged, turning to Scott and looking up at him wide-eyed.

"Sure," Scott agreed. "While you're at the park, Daddy will get dinner ready."

"Okay, Daddy," Cassie beamed. "Come on, Miss Lizzy!"

As soon as Cassie and Liz had left, Scott went into his bedroom and sat down on the bed. He put his head in his hands and sighed. "I don't know if I can handle it if this doctor can't help Cassie," he groaned. After sitting in that position for a few minutes, Scott finally stood up, walked out of his room, and went into the small kitchen to make dinner.

* * *

"Daddy! Daddy! Miss Lizzy and I went to the park and we played on the swings and I got to pet a puppy!" Cassie shouted when she got back to the apartment an hour later. She burst into the kitchen, dragging Liz behind her by the hand.

"That sounds like fun, Cassie!" Scott smiled, not really listening as she continued babbling about her trip to the park.

"Go wash your hands, Cassie," Scott told her once she finished talking. "It's time for dinner."

"Okay, Daddy." Cassie nearly bounced out of the room and into the bathroom. Scott heard the water turn on and then off again, and Cassie was back in the kitchen.

"Okay now, sit down at the table," Scott gestured. He put the plate down on the table, and Cassie sat down and strained herself to see what was on it. Liz took the seat next to her and spooned some applesauce onto her plate.

"Chicken nuggets?" Cassie asked excitedly.

"Your favorite," Scott grinned, putting a few on her plate.

"Thanks, Daddy," Cassie smiled.

* * *

"Daddy, why do I have to smell this stuff?" Cassie asked an hour later. She made a face. "It smells funny."

"This is supposed to help you," Scott answered, holding the bowl of tea under her nose.

Cassie wrinkled her nose and said, "How long do I have to do this for?"

"Just five minutes every night, sweetie," Scott replied, checking his watch.

"So she inhales the tea for five minutes, and then what?" Liz asked skeptically, watching the procedure.

"After five minutes she's supposed to drink it with a teaspoon of honey," Scott told her without looking up.

"And what's this supposed to do for her?"

"Supposedly it should help her condition improve, though the doctor was very light on the details for how it works or what it actually does," Scott shrugged. He looked at his watch again, and said, "Okay, Cassie, now it's time for you to drink this." He took the bowl out from under her nose, stirred a teaspoon of honey into it, and poured it into a mug. He held it out to Cassie and ordered, "Drink."

Cassie took the mug, sipped some of it, and made a face. "It tastes funny."

"You've got to drink it, sweetie," Scott insisted.

"Tell you what, Cassie," Liz said, squatting down next to her, "how about if once you finish your tea the two of us go play with dolls until bedtime. How's that?"

Cassie looked into her mug and then up at Liz. Finally she sighed and said, "Okay." Then she took another sip of the tea, made a face, and drank the rest without stopping for a breath. "Now we play with dolls," Cassie insisted, dragging Liz into her bedroom.

Suddenly alone in the living room, Scott sighed and walked over to drop the bowl and mug in the sink. Returning to the living room, he glanced at the clock and said, "Cassie, it's time for bed."

"But, Daddy…" Cassie whined, pulling her door open a crack.

"No buts," Scott said. "You can play with Liz tomorrow, but now it's time for bed."

"Come on, Cassie, let's brush our teeth," Liz said, taking the six-year-old's hand and leading her into the bathroom.

About half an hour later, Scott tucked Cassie into bed and kissed her on the forehead

"Can you read me a story?" Cassie asked sleepily.

"Hmm…" Scott made a show of thinking. "Well, I suppose since you were good tonight, I'll read you a story. What story do you want me to read?"

"Read this one," Cassie told him, holding out _Hey, Little Ant_.

"Okay," Scott told her, opening the book and starting to read. Within three pages, she was fast asleep. Scott quietly closed the book, turned off the light, and stepped out of her room. Two hours later, he changed into his security uniform and left for Stark Industries.


	9. Chapter 8

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"What a night," Scott groaned, stretching his arms and walking over to the coffeepot in the security break room. He set his mug on the counter next to the coffee station, picked up the nearly-empty pot, and poured some, leaving room for cream and sugar. Once the mug was full, he poured in the cream and sugar and stirred it. While he was doing this, the coffee machine automatically drained the dregs from the pot and began refilling it with fresh coffee. Once Scott was satisfied with the coffee in his mug, he took a sip and looked at the clock on the wall: 5:15 AM. He twisted his neck from side to side to work out some kinks, shook his head to clear some of the daze, and glanced out the window toward the office building next to the factory. All of the lights were out inside, except for a single office on the ground floor. Though the fluorescent light was not lit inside, Scott could see the glow of artificial light through the window. Thinking back, Scott could not remember having seen any light through that window the last time he had looked at the building. Confused, he keyed the radio handset on his shoulder and called down the hall to the security center.

"Rick, can you check the entry logs?" he asked the graveyard shift supervisor.

"Sure, Scott. What am I looking for?"

"I don't know," Scott answered hesitantly. "There's a light on in Building 1, and I don't remember seeing it on my last round."

"One minute…" Scott heard the sound of typing through the radio. "The last employee to leave last night swiped her ID card at 8:12 P.M., and the first one to arrive normally doesn't get here for at least another couple hours. Other than security, there shouldn't be anyone on the premises."

"I'm going to go check it out," Scott decided, leaving the break room and turning toward the security building's interior entrance.

"Do you want back up, Lang?" Rick asked over the radio.

Scott thought about the question for a moment. "No, it's probably nothing," he finally decided. He chuckled. "But if you don't hear from me for a few minutes, send in the cavalry!"

Scott pulled the door open and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The parking lots and field separating the security building from the rest of the Stark Industries compound was still covered by darkness, though he could see hazy shapes in the rays of sunlight just starting to creep over the horizon. Scott instantly felt more awake when he felt the fresh breeze on his face. He zipped up his security windbreaker and broke into a jog across the short distance to the office building, careful not to spill his coffee. On reaching the front door he slid his security badge across the reader while typing a security pass code. The command muted the door's normal buzz tone so that the intruder would not be tipped off when the door swung open. Scott walked in and turned right to look down the hallway opposite the office where he'd seen the light.

Scott quietly pulled his flashlight out of its holster on his belt and smoothly swung it up to shine it up and down the hallway, alert for any sign of movement. Seeing nothing, he spun around to face down the hallway toward the lit office. After playing the flashlight up and down the hallway, he slowly started walking down the hallway toward the square of artificial light shining out through an office window, shining his light into each office as he went. When he reached the office where he'd seen the light, he stopped just outside the door and glanced in.

A man sat at a desk staring at a lit computer screen, though in the poor artificial lighting Scott could not discern any of the man's features. Scott slid his card in front of the card reader, which clicked open. The instant he heard the click, and before the man could react, Scott swung the door open and trained his flashlight on the man at the desk.

"What the hell!" the man shouted, looking up from the computer in shock. All of the man's wrinkles were immediately thrown into sharp contrast by the dim blue artificial light from the computer monitor combined with the bright white light shining on his face. The man squinted in the bright light, put his hand up to shade his eyes, and tried to see Scott's face. "Oh, you scared me half to death!" he said, finally recognizing Scott's Stark Industries security uniform.

"Who are you and what are you doing here at this time of night?" Scott demanded, switching the flashlight to his left hand and reaching for his taser with his right.

"Hold on. Could you turn the overhead light on?" asked the man, putting both his hands up in front of his face in a sign of peace.

Without looking away from the man Scott complied, and turned the flashlight off. He could see the man's grey hair and wizened face. He wore a dark blue turtleneck and khakis. Scott asked, "Is that better? Now what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?'" the man responded in confusion. "I work here. This is my office."

"You're the technical consultant, Dr. Henry Pym?" Scott asked, glancing over at the nameplate affixed to the door to his left.

"That I am," Dr. Pym answered with a nod.

"Can I see your ID card to confirm?" Scott asked.

"I've been working here for over fifty years," Dr. Pym huffed indignantly. "Don't you recognize me?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I've only been working here for a week, and I don't know many of the employees' faces," Scott answered. "But I still need to see your ID."

"Fine, here," Pym sighed resignedly, pulling a lanyard over his neck and holding it out to Scott.

Scott took the ID card in his hand and looked at the face, then back at Dr. Pym. Finally he handed it back and nodded. "Thank you, sir." Then he keyed the button on his radio and said, "False alarm, Rick. Just an employee."

"Ten-four," Rick responded.

"Of course, just because you work here doesn't mean you belong here at this time of the night," Scott observed suspiciously. _If anyone knows that, it's _me_!_ he thought to himself humorlessly, the irony of the situation not lost on him.

"This time of night?" Dr. Pym asked, confused. "What do you mean? What time of night is it?" He looked back down at the computer screen intently. "5:20 AM!?" he suddenly shouted, wringing his hands, "I was only planning to stay another hour! Oh, no, Janet's got to be worried sick. Oh, she's going to kill me…"

Bemused, Scott levelly told him, "You'd better explain what happened."

"I retired from working full-time last year, but Mr. Stark asked me to stay on for a year or two as a technical consultant; I'm finishing up my old projects, mostly," Dr. Pym explained. "It's about the same as what I was doing before, but less of it, and I can set my own hours: Come in when I want, leave when I want, go on vacation when I want… It's not much, but it helps supplement our retirement fund…" Finished rambling, he fell into a pensive silence, staring at the wall over Scott's shoulder. After a minute, Scott cleared his throat. Pym jumped and snapped out of his reverie. "What? Who? Oh, where was I? Oh, yes, as I was saying, I've only been coming in a couple days a week since I retired. I'm working on a very important project right now, and I was trying to get it done yesterday so I could present it to the R and D Department when I'm here next Tuesday. I needed a little more time, so I came back after dinner to try to finish it up. I must have lost track of time." He shook his head and added, "My wife's going to be so upset… And especially after I promised that I was done pulling these all-nighters…"

"When we checked the card log, it showed no one was still here," Scott observed, giving Pym an appraising look.

With barely a moment's hesitation, Dr. Pym shrugged and replied, "When I got back from dinner, there were a couple other people returning to work at the same time, so I just came in with them; I know that's against security policy." He looked up at Scott and asked, "Are you going to report me?"

"I really should," Scott answered slowly. He glanced around the office. There were a few pictures on the walls, along with an award or two. He saw about a dozen different diplomas hanging on the wall behind Pym's desk above the wall-length window. Finally, his eyes came to rest on a picture sitting on the desk. The picture showed a decades-younger Dr. Pym with salt-and-pepper hair. He had his arm around a slightly shorter woman whose black hair was streaked with white. The two were smiling and standing in front of what was clearly the Eiffel Tower. Finally Scott decided. "Oh, I guess I can give you a pass this time, Doctor. You wrote that paper on the application of biochemical compounds integrated into electronic circuitry, right?"

"I did," Pym acknowledged with a smile. "One of my first papers on bio-electronic engineering. Wait," he suddenly looked at Scott in shock, "You actually _read_ it?"

"I had a lot of time on my hands," Scott hedged with a shrug.

"You are a very unusual security guard," Pym noted, giving Scott an appraising look.

"It was for a class I was taking," Scott told him. "The idea of using hydrocarbons as an undetectable conductor path in circuits is incredible, though I'm not sure how feasible it is."

"Thank you; I didn't know anyone really read _Bio-Mechanics Monthly_," Pym chuckled.

"It's not what I'd call easy reading," Scott laughed, "but it's certainly informative!"

"That it is," Pym nodded with a smile.

"Well, I should get back to my patrol," Scott said, checking his watch and stepping back out the door. "Don't forget to scan your ID card from now on, sir."

"I will," Pym replied, shutting off his computer. He stood up, stretched his arms, slid a couple pieces of paper from his desk into his briefcase, and picked it up. He grabbed his jacket off the hook next to the door, put it on, and followed Scott out the door. "I'd better be heading home myself; I'm sure Janet is going to be worried sick."


	10. Chapter 9

AN: Thanks to Qweb and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. I'm glad you like the meeting with Pym. I decided that I want him to be something of an absent-minded professor, at least at this stage in his life. Now, the story heats up a bit more…

* * *

Scott clocked in at exactly eleven and grabbed his equipment. Once his Mace, taser, and flashlight were in place on his belt, he grabbed his radio and affixed it to its place on his belt with the handset on his shoulder. Walking down the corridor a few steps, he placed his hand on the palm reader for the armory, which slid open with a _whoosh_. His service weapon rotated out of its slot in the wall, and he grabbed it and slid it into the holster on his right hip, fastening it securely in place with the clasp. Satisfied, Scott stepped out of the armory, which shut behind him. Finally prepared, he strode out of the security building and walked toward the security fence surrounding the Stark Industries compound. On the way he nodded to his partner for the night, Mike, who fell into step beside him.

"What did you think of that Lakers game last night, Lang?" Mike asked as they reached the fence and turned to their right to begin their patrol.

"Psh, the Lakers just did not look good for the first three quarters," Scott groaned. "They made a run at it in the last quarter, but aside from Kobe, no one was doing _anything_!"

"The Clippers are where it's at, man!" Mike laughed.

"Yeah, I'll believe that when the Clippers win a dozen championships in a row!" Scott retorted.

* * *

It was on their fifth round, at about four in the morning, that they noticed something suspicious. They had just circled around to where they had begun their circuit, and Scott was scanning his flashlight over the fence. A few yards ahead of them, he shined his flashlight on a section of fence and saw a hole cut in it about a foot from the ground. He quickly ran toward the hole, keying his radio as he went, and called, "Code Red! North fence, fifty meters west of the main gate!"

"What's going on, Lang?" Rick demanded through the radio just as Scott reached the hole, Mike a few steps behind him. Scott saw the security building's door swing open out of the corner of his eye and heard a number of voices along with pounding footsteps coming toward him. The searchlight mounted on top of the guard building turned on and swung around to point at the hole in the fence.

"I—I'm not sure! Someone cut a hole in the fence, probably with wire cutters; yeah, they left the cutters on the other side of the fence," Scott reported, shining the light through the fence. He started sweeping the grounds between the fence and buildings with his flashlight. Beside him Mike did the same. "I don't remember seeing anything unusual here on my last circuit."

"Hold there and wait for backup," Rick ordered.

Scott opened his mouth to acknowledge, but a dark shape caught his eye moving across the grounds. "Hang on," he reported into the radio, pulling his taser out of its holster as he did so. "I see something coming this way."

As the shadow came closer, Scott could make out that it was in the shape of a man. He shined his light in the man's face. He was wearing all black with a mask covering his face. The man pulled a dark object from his belt and pointed it at him.

"Drop it!" Scott ordered, training his taser on the man. Next to him, he could sense Mike doing the same. Before either of them could react, however, the man fired his gun twice. When he heard the first shot, Scott dove to his left, dropping the taser as he went and reaching for the handgun on his right hip. He felt a burning sensation in his right shoulder as he fell back against the fence.

"Mike? You hurt?" he called, looking to his right. His eyes fell on Mike's prone form thrown into sharp contrast by the bright light of the searchlight. He lay on his back on the ground in front of him to the right. Scott could make out the shocked expression plastered across Mike's face. There was a perfect hole in the middle of his forehead. "Mike!"

Before Scott could mourn Mike's death, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching him. He twisted around to face the sound, the gun at his side momentarily forgotten. The man was standing over him, his facial features thrown into deep shadow by the bright light behind him. His eyes were completely expressionless as they stared back at him. Scott barely noticed the man's eyes, however, because of the handgun barrel pointed directly at his forehead. Scott stared back at the man down the gun barrel and thought about his daughter, how he would never see her again. The man's right index finger seemed to move in slow motion as he depressed the trigger. Scott closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet.

That bullet never came. Instead, he heard the man let out a yelp of surprise and pain followed by the sound of something solid falling to the ground. Scott opened his eyes to see a hornet sticking out of the man's right hand. The man had dropped his gun and fallen back a few steps. He was shaking his hand up and down, desperately trying to shake the hornet off.

Before Scott could process what had just happened, he heard buzzing from behind him. A pair of bees flew past his head, followed by a yellow jacket. It came so close to his head that Scott could swear that he saw a figure sitting on the yellow jacket's back. As soon as it flew past Scott, the tiny figure jumped off of the yellow jacket and suddenly grew to the size of a man. Scott couldn't see the man clearly with the light behind him, but he could see a jagged streak of black running down his back. The man's head was oddly shaped and cast a strange shadow behind him over Scott.

The intruder screamed again when the two bees stung him in the left arm. The stranger immediately punched the intruder in the same spot. When the intruder dropped to one knee, the stranger kicked him in the chest. He fell onto his back and groaned.

Scott broke out of his reverie long enough to notice that the intruder's handgun was lying on the ground in front of him. He reached out, picked it up, and stowed it in his own holster after drawing his sidearm. He shook his head as he climbed to his feet and walked over to where the stranger still stood over the groaning man on the ground. Scott trained his gun on the intruder and ordered, "Now don't move."

"Have you got it from here, Mr. Lang?" asked the unusually-dressed man. The voice sounded strangely familiar, though Scott couldn't place from where. He glanced over and looked more closely at his rescuer. He could now see that the man's oddly-shaped head was a gray helmet, and that his skintight uniform was red with black highlights along the sides of the chest.

"I think so," Scott finally answered. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Ant-Man," came the response, as the man suddenly disappeared from beside him.

When the ringing in his ears went away, Scott finally heard the tinny voice coming from his radio handset next to his ear. "Lang? Lang! What the hell's going on out there!?"

"I'm a few yards from the hole holding the intruder at gunpoint," Scott reported. "But—Mike's down—shot in the head. Crap! He got me in the shoulder, too."

"How'd you get him?" Rick asked hurriedly.

"I—I didn't. He was about to finish me off, when a guy who called himself—um, 'Ant-Man'—appeared and saved me," Scott answered, still dazed and confused.

"Okay, don't worry," Rick reassured him. "The backup team is almost there, and they've got a first aid kit."

"I'll just be here," Scott retorted. "Waiting."

He reached down and started patting down his unconscious prisoner. He pulled a knife out of its sheath on the man's belt and tossed it away, followed by a revolver in an ankle holster. Finally, Scott reached into a compartment on his belt and pulled out a memory card. Noting the Stark Industries logo on the front, he pulled a plastic bag from his belt and dropped it in. By the time he was satisfied, the backup team was almost on top of him.

"Nice job, Lang," the leader said, holstering his own gun, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and affixing them around the prisoner's wrists. Four other guards held rifles trained on the unconscious prisoner. The final guard pulled out a first aid kit and made Scott sit down on the cold ground while he tended the gunshot wound on his shoulder.

"Not quite so nice," Scott muttered, nodding toward the body in the grass a few yards away. He winced as the medic applied an antibiotic to his shoulder and covered the wound with a bandage. "He got Mike."

"Damn it," the leader groaned, squatting next to Mike's body. He put two fingers to the neck, felt around for a minute to find a pulse, and, finding none, shook his head. The men were all silent for a moment out of respect. "What happened?" the leader finally asked, looking over at Scott.

"Mike and I were patrolling along the fence when I shined my light on that patch of fence and saw the hole. I called it in, and we started scanning for intruders. We saw a shape coming toward us, and both drew our tasers. I didn't see the gun until it was too late. Before we could do anything, he shot at us. His first bullet must have hit Mike; I dove to the side when I heard the gunshot—that must have been when he got me. I—I couldn't get to my gun quick enough. I looked up to see him staring down at me. He was about to shoot me again when some guy—er, 'Ant-Man'—turned up and saved me," Scott reported. He held out the memory card and added, "I found this in one of the compartments on his belt while searching him for weapons."

"It's amazing you're still alive," the leader observed.

"To be honest, I don't think I should be," Scott replied. "If that guy hadn't showed up when he did, I'd be dead, and this guy would have gotten away with whatever's on that memory card."

"You were damn lucky the Ant-Man showed up when he did," one of the other guards said.

"Who is 'Ant-Man'?"

"Some local superhero," the leader shrugged. "Shows up every so often to stop criminals. Don't know why, but we haven't seen him as much lately."

"Lucky for me he picked tonight," Scott observed. Under his breath he added, "Pity he didn't arrive sooner…"

Scott heard the distant sound of sirens drawing closer. A pair of police cars came into sight, followed by two ambulances, all with lights flashing. He watched the support team leader say something into the radio. With a whistle, the facility's main gate swung open to admit the vehicles. All four turned off the driveway the moment they were through the gate and headed toward the crowd of men clustered around Scott, the intruder, and Mike's body.

A pair of officers climbed out of the first police car and walked over to take possession of the prisoner. Two more started taking statements from the backup team members, before finally moving on to Scott. While Scott described to them what had happened, a paramedic jogged over and took over tending his bullet wound. Scott was dimly aware of an ambulance stopping next to Mike's body and a pair of paramedics loading him onto a gurney.

"You're going to have to come to the hospital with us so we can get that bullet out," the paramedic in front of him said.

Scott nodded his consent, though he was starting to lose touch with the situation. He suddenly felt cold. He started shivering. The paramedic said something into his ear, but he didn't hear it. He barely realized that the paramedic was walking him over to the ambulance and ordering him to lay down on the gurney inside. As soon as he was in, he heard the door slam shut, and the ambulance started to move.


	11. Chapter 10

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

It was the morning after Scott had returned to work following his sick leave. He was sitting in the main employee cafeteria around 7:30 and eating a plate of pancakes, as was his custom when he got off work. He took a gulp of his orange juice and started wondering if he would need some caffeine just to keep himself awake long enough to return to the apartment and go to bed.

He was just about to go over to the coffee station and get some when he noticed two men in button-down white shirts who had just sat down together and were talking in low voices one table over from him. He would not have paid any more attention to them, but he heard one line of their conversation: "Did you hear about the break-in attempt last week?" Intrigued, Scott put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair to listen.

"No," the other man, who was wearing a blue blazer, was saying, "what happened?"

"They've been keeping it pretty quiet," the first told him conspiratorially. "I don't think the company wants anyone knowing how close the guy actually got. Not that that's going to keep the story quiet!"

"So what happened?"

The first man answered, "An intruder cut his way through the fence and snuck into the main building. He managed to get into one of the secure offices, steal the plans for the boss's newest pet project, and get out again before anyone knew what was up."

"But they caught the guy who did it, right?" blue blazer asked, glancing around nervously.

"Couple security guards found the hole he'd made and set off the alarm. They managed to stop the guy and keep him from escaping. One of them got hurt, though."

"Both of us got hurt, actually," Scott interrupted, finally turning around to face the two men. "I was just lucky enough to survive."

He smirked inwardly when he saw the surprise and guilt on their faces when they noticed the bandage still covering his right shoulder. "You were there?" blue blazer asked dumbly, looking at him in shock.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Even took a bullet in my shoulder." He unconsciously reached his left hand up to feel his injured right shoulder and stretched it a little against the stiffness. "My partner wasn't so lucky."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I am, too," Scott said sadly. He was quiet for a few minutes, thinking back to that night. Finally remembering the men at the other table, who were still looking at him, he added, "I'm Scott, by the way."

"My name's Brad, and this is Fernando," the first man said, holding out his hand. When Scott accepted the offered hand, Brad added, "I'm a computer engineer, and Fernando's a systems technician. R and D Department. Hey, um, sorry we were talking about you… Care to join us?"

"Why not?" Scott shrugged, falling into an open chair opposite the two men and falling silent.

The two men were also silent for a moment before Brad finally cleared his throat and asked, "I was wondering, well, how did this happen? I mean, how did the guy manage to get so close to escaping without being detected? I know the story that's been circulating since it happened, but it would be nice to hear it from someone who's actually in the know."

"They did a security audit while I was on medical leave," Scott explained. He downed the rest of his orange juice before continuing. "Apparently, the man timed his entrance so he cut through the fence while no one was in the area. He even timed it so he was hitting us when the security team was the most tired, just after the middle of our shift. Right after one guard team passed, he knocked in the hole he'd cut and slipped through. He must've cased the facility for a while, since he knew how to avoid all the external cameras, and he already had sliced through the security codes protecting all of the checkpoints in the building. Once he made it into the building, it was just a matter of avoiding the guard teams in the outermost hallways, using the backdoor codes he'd already embedded at all the security checkpoints to get through them without setting off any alarms, grabbing what he came for, and slipping out again. He was in and out in less than fifteen minutes—exactly the amount of time between security patrols. It was purely by dumb luck—if you could call it luck, that is—that my partner and I had been moving a little faster than usual on that circuit. We reached his exit spot before he did and noticed the hole in the fence before he could make his escape." He thought for a moment and chuckled humorlessly. "I could do with a little less of that kind of luck!"

He stopped for a moment. One of the engineers opened his mouth to speak, but Scott started talking again without noticing. "He shot at us before we knew what was coming. He hit my partner right between the eyes on his first shot, and lodged his second bullet in my shoulder because I dove out of the way quick enough," Scott finished.

"How did you _survive_?" Fernando demanded in astonishment.

"Damn if I know," Scott shook his head. He asked, "You ever hear of a guy named 'Ant-Man'?"

"Yeah," Brad nodded. "Superhero. Been around since the height of the Cold War. The newspaper ran a story on him a couple years back, looking back at all his appearances over the years. Have to say, the guy's got quite a reputation… or at least for a bug!"

"One of the first things he ever did was to stop a bodega robbery. That actually saved my life," Fernando informed them.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked incredulously.

"It was before I was born," Fernando began. "My mom and dad were getting milk from the bodega down the street, and some guy came in, pulled a gun, pointed it at the owner and demanded that he hand over all the money in the register. The owner started to comply, but the dude noticed my parents in the back of the store. He turned and started toward them, ordered them to get to the front of the bodega."

He took a breath and continued. "They were standing in front of him. He went to grab my mom, but dad put himself between mom and the bad guy. The guy pointed his gun at dad's head and told him to move or he would blow his brains out."

"What did he do?" Brad asked.

Fernando answered, "When my dad refused to move, the guy went to pull the trigger.

"The way my dad tells it, there was no warning. One minute he's about to get shot; the next minute the guy's screaming in agony with a hornet sticking out of his hand. Before my dad knows what's happening, a guy in a funny red and blue spandex outfit appears out of nowhere right next to them. The bad guy screams again, and dad sees a swarm of ants crawling up his left leg and biting him. The new guy—Ant-Man—punches him in the gut and kicks his knee out right where the ants were biting him. The bad guy falls to the ground and drops the gun. By the time the police arrived, Ant-Man was gone, and the bodega owner was standing over the bad guy with his shotgun."

"Wow," Scott said, "that's almost exactly the way it went this time. So where'd this 'Ant-Man' come from?"

"Don't know," Brad shrugged. "The newspaper didn't say anything about that. He just… showed up."

"Huh," Scott said, leaning back in the seat.

"Anyways, back to the intruder the other night," Fernando interrupted, looking at the other two. "How could he move around so easily in the building? Don't we have the best security in the state? I mean, could something like that happen _again_?"

"We absolutely _do_ have the best security in the state, but there are certain places where we security guards can't go because our security clearance isn't high enough. I'm a security guard; I'm not allowed into any of the secure labs, or in most of the offices, or even past the intermediate security checkpoint in this building," Scott responded. "There's just too much sensitive information in those areas that we aren't supposed to see. So once the intruder got past that point, there was no way for security to know he was even in here."

"So do you think they're going to change that and start giving security guards access to the entire building?" Fernando asked Scott.

"Not a chance of that," Brad averred. "It would make more problems than it would solve, since the guards themselves would pose a security risk then."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence!" Scott joked.

"Sorry."

Scott shrugged and thought for a moment. Suddenly he was hit by inspiration. "How about a robot?" he suggested, glancing from one man to the other.

"A robot?" Brad asked blankly.

"Yeah," Scott nodded. "A robot doesn't need a security clearance since it's not a person; it's a piece of the building's hardware. Plus, a robot doesn't get tired or lose its concentration. If a robot met a security threat, odds are it could handle the threat or call reinforcements, since a robot would be a lot harder to overpower than a human." He shrugged. "It's just a thought."

"Huh," Fernando said. "You know, that's actually a pretty good idea."

"A robot could be programmed to handle a wide variety of threats," Scott continued. "With the right software it could identify and monitor potential threats, and eventually take them out if necessary. You could call it a 'Variable Integrated Security' System, since it can respond to a wide range of potential security threats and is integrated into the building's existing security system. Then if there is a security threat, it can issue a warning to the building's security department so we can respond properly."

"The only problem with this idea is that Stark is a weapons manufacturer, not a security consulting firm," Brad responded. "Why would Stark want to get into the security business?"

Scott chuckled and said, "Stark's _already_ in the security business. You said it yourself: This company has the best security system in the state of California, and our security guards are actually pretty highly trained, too. We have a small army on site at all times to deal with this kind of threat when it comes up. And that's not something that came from consultants outside the company; our own security department has a couple highly-trained security systems designers on staff. They designed the entire system themselves. We already have all the security expertise we would need to create a robotic security system. Besides, can't a robotic security system also have a military application?"

Brad answered, "Okay, but where's the robotics technology going to come from? Most of our systems are man-operated."

"True, but even if Stark primarily builds man-operated weapons systems, you do also work with robotics on occasion, right?" Scott pushed.

"Not on a regular basis, but every so often an order will come in requesting robotic units," Fernando acknowledged with a nod. "And I know that the boss does a lot of work with robotics; I think it's something of a hobby of his."

"You know, I'm pretty sure we actually have a few basic robotic platforms in the company database. If we start with one of those, we could probably make this security robot idea work," Brad turned to Fernando and pulled a Stark Tech tablet computer out of his briefcase. He set the tablet on the table in front of him, turned it on, and started typing onto the touch screen furiously. "Here's the company's basic android hardware/software platform, the HT Mark-I. We add in a weapons arsenal, surveillance equipment…"

Scott stood up and excused himself. The two engineers barely looked up from their animated conversation when he left the table and half-stumbled out the door toward the parking lot.

* * *

Two men met again in a deserted conference room. The man in the suit stood at the head of the table and stared at his associate, who shrank back under the force of the other's glare.

The suit finally said, "When I hire someone, I only hire the best. Are you the best?"

"Yes, sir," his associate defended.

"You see, I'm not sure about that anymore," the suit replied. Suddenly he slammed his palm on the conference table and shouted, "What's so challenging about this project? I gave you a simple task; how hard can it be?"

"Sir, I've tried," his associate, the man in the black combat uniform, responded. "Somehow, every plan's failed." On seeing the suit's look, he quickly added, "But I've got a new way in."

"Will it work?" the suit demanded.

"It's foolproof."


	12. Chapter 11

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. For those new to my universe, I explore the story of the Avenger Vision far more in my stories "Stark Security Situation" and "Team B to the Rescue;" the second half of the previous chapter shows how Scott Lang had a hand in coming up with the idea of a robotic security guard, and even suggested the name. In "Stark Security Situation," Tony takes the idea of a robotic security guard and implements it. In the comics, Hank Pym creates a robot called "Ultron," which in turn creates a robot called "Vision" as part of a plot to destroy the Avengers. In my universe, I cut Ultron out of the story, but "Ant-Man" is still sort-of responsible for Vision. For more on that, you can read "Stark Security Situation."

* * *

"Liz, I won't be able to fly out to Indiana with Cassie this weekend," Scott announced at dinner that night.

"What? Why?" Liz questioned, helping herself to some spaghetti before serving Cassie.

"The security audit this week turned up a couple problems," answered Scott after finishing his mouthful of salad. "Tomorrow night I need to give them my statement—again—and explain what happened—again. Then this weekend we are upgrading all the security software, and Mr. Allred wants me to do the upgrade Saturday morning and then be available all weekend in case there are any problems.

"Could you—?"

"Sure, not a problem," Liz nodded.

* * *

Liz and Cassie's plane arrived at O'Hare International Airport just before 7 PM Friday evening. Liz stood up and collected their carry-on bags from the overhead compartment. She adjusted her backpack straps on her shoulder, handed Cassie her ladybug backpack, and picked up their two suitcases. Once she had all their bags, she reached down and took Cassie's hand to wait for their turn to leave.

"I can't wait to see my mommy and Bill," Cassie said excitedly.

"Did your mommy tell you what you're going to do this weekend?" Liz asked as they walked down the aisle.

"Not yet, but I hope we get to go to the zoo tomorrow!"

"Maybe we will," Liz smiled nervously. "Now, Cassie, I don't know your mommy, so you'll have to point her out to me, okay?"

"Okay, Miss Lizzy," Cassie said enthusiastically. The two walked toward the airport exit together. Liz remained quiet, while Cassie babbled excitedly about the friends she wanted to see and everything she wanted to do that weekend.

When they finally passed airport security, Liz saw a crowd of people standing just outside, obviously waiting for someone to arrive. She felt the nervous sensation in the pit of her stomach, which had been lurking in the background since Scott asked her to make this trip, start to flare up now that she was so close to meeting his ex-wife and Cassie's mother. _Does she approve of me caring for Cassie like a mother would? Will she be upset to see me here instead of Scott? What does she even think of this arrangement?_

Cassie suddenly started waving excitedly and shouting, "Mommy! Mommy!"

Liz looked in the direction that Cassie was pointing and saw a woman in a light blue blouse and black pants with short blond hair smiling and waving back at them. Liz swallowed a little nervously as the woman started walking over to them. Just as the woman reached them, Cassie pulled her left hand out of Liz's grip and ran to hug her mother.

"Hi, sweetie, I've missed you," the strange woman said, wrapping her arms around Cassie and picking her up. A minute later she put the little girl down and looked up at Liz.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson, my name is Elizabeth Byrne," Liz said, smiling as best she could and putting her hand out.

The other woman accepted the hand and gave her a tightlipped smile. "Peggy Rae Johnson," she said. "So _you_'re the 'Miss Lizzy' that Cassie's told me so much about! I was expecting Scott to bring her…"

"Scott was expecting to bring her, too, until two nights ago. But he found out that has to work this weekend," Liz explained. "He only found out yesterday, and didn't want to cancel on you, so he asked me to take his place."

"That doesn't seem like him," Peggy observed thoughtfully.

"They're doing a security upgrade, plus they need him to tell them about how he got hurt again," Liz told her.

"He got hurt? At work?" Liz thought she detected a note of concern in Peggy's voice.

"He got shot last Wednesday by an intruder. The guy nearly killed him before the other guards subdued him," Liz answered.

"My goodness," Peggy said in shock.

Cassie, who had not been paying attention to the grownups' conversation, started tugging on her mother's hand. "Mommy, can we go?" she whined.

"Yes, sweetie," Peggy replied. She looked back at Liz and said ambiguously, "We can talk more later."

* * *

That night, after Cassie was in bed, Peggy made a pot of tea and set it on the dining room table with a pair of mugs. She took a seat and indicated for Liz to sit down as well. When the two were seated and had mugs of tea in front of them, Liz noticed Peggy staring at her, sizing her up. She silently sipped her tea and waited for the other woman to speak first.

"How is Cassie adjusting to life in California?"

"Just fine," Liz answered with a nervous smile. "Scott enrolled her in school the day after they arrived, and she's loving it there. All she talks about at dinner is how much fun they had that day and how much she loves her teacher. She begged me for weeks to let her invite some friends over, so she had five friends come over last Saturday. Of course we couldn't have six 6-year-old girls running around the apartment; Scott was asleep. So instead I took them to the museum. They had a ball!"

"That's good to hear," Peggy said, sounding relieved. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Cassie's actually told me a lot about you."

"All good, I hope," Liz smiled nervously.

"Oh, yes," Peggy answered. "She's told me about how you drive her to school every morning, and you play with dolls with her, and you take her to play-dates with her friends…"

"Yeah, she loves going to the park together, especially when there are dogs there and she gets to pet them," Liz agreed with a nod.

"She has always loved animals, ever since we had a cat when she was born," Peggy reminisced, looking off into the distance.

The two women sat for a few more minutes, holding their mugs in an uneasy silence.

Eventually, Peggy broke the silence again and asked, "Has Cassie made a lot of friends in LA?"

Liz nodded and replied, "Absolutely. Our neighbors have a six-year-old, also, and the two of them are almost inseparable. She's also made a few friends from school. She was over at her friend Hannah's house yesterday afternoon, and I nearly had to _drag_ her home for dinner!"

"And what do their parents think of your… arrangement?" Peggy asked, giving the other woman an appraising look.

"Oh, I suppose one or two might have been uncomfortable with it at first, but as soon as they found out what was going on, they were fine with it," Liz answered carefully. "About a dozen of my girlfriends at UCLA work as nannies on the side, and a couple of them are also living with the families they nanny for, so it's not that unusual. Actually, half the kids at Cassie's school have nannies, too. I think the most unusual part of the situation is that Scott's a single dad and a security guard, as opposed to mom and dad both being company bigwigs!"

"Oh," Peggy said, sipping on her tea. "So this isn't that unusual?"

"I don't think so."

After a few more minutes of sitting in silence and drinking their tea, Peggy poured herself another mug and finally asked, "Why are you doing it?"

"What do you mean?" Liz asked innocently.

"I think you know what I mean," Peggy responded. "Why did you decide to move in with my ex and watch our daughter for him?"

Liz thought for a minute before responding. "I suppose I could say that it gives me a place to live away from my parents. I could also say that I love Cassie, and that that alone would be enough to make me do it," she said slowly.

"But neither of those is the real reason."

"No."

"Then what is?"

Liz thought for a minute. "Did Scott tell you about how we met?" Liz asked finally.

"No, he's been intentionally… vague about the details of how he got his job and how he found you to be his…" Peggy trailed off.

"Nanny, primarily," Liz supplied, "though I also do some cleaning and cooking." She looked away for a moment. Finally she said, "I don't think Scott is very comfortable with talking about what happened.

"I was nearly abducted from the café where I worked." She heard Peggy gasp as she went on, "It was down in Atlanta while I was in college there back in the fall. Some guy came in, stuck a gun to my head, and tried to take me away.

"I thought I was going to be dragged away, raped, murdered… I didn't know what to do except beg for my life. A customer who'd come in a couple times stood up to the gunman, wrestled the gun away from him, saved my life. It was Scott. He took a bullet in his arm and saved my life, even though he'd only just met me a couple days before."

"Gosh," Peggy said, surprised. "He never told me any of that."

"My dad's head of Human Resources for Stark Industries," Liz continued. "When I told him what had happened, he wanted to help Scott get a job, even with his criminal record. So, that's also how Scott got his security guard job."

"And you decided to move in with him to watch Cassie."

"More or less," Liz nodded. "I'd already decided I wanted to be closer to home because of the abduction scare; moving in with him as Cassie's nanny seemed like a win-win situation for both of us: He got to take the job and have his daughter live with him. I got to have my housing and food taken care of, make a little spending money, and repay the debt I owe him for saving my life."

"That makes sense now," Peggy smiled. "So how has Cassie been feeling since moving out there? I assume that Scott's been continuing her treatment?"

"He took her to see Stark Industries' primary pediatrician a week after they arrived, once we'd gotten more settled in," Liz affirmed. "He didn't have any brilliant treatment ideas other than that tea I gave her before bed. But he did refer us to the best oncologist in Los Angeles. Scott scheduled an appointment for her on Monday."

Peggy sighed in relief. "I'm glad to hear it. Access to better doctors was one of the reasons that I let Scott take her."

"Cassie really does seem to love her father," Liz observed, "and I can tell that he absolutely adores her."

Peggy was silent for a minute, looking appraisingly at Liz. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she said, "I know. You must think I'm a horrible person for taking her away from him and leaving him the way I did."

"Oh, no," Liz replied in shock, a horrified expression crossing her face. "I wasn't implying anything like that at all!"

Peggy was quiet for another minute, watching Liz's face. Finally she said, "Believe me, that may have been one of the most difficult decisions I ever made. I didn't know what else to do. Cassie was still sick, she still needed medication and treatments and doctors' visits and all of that. With Scott in prison, we didn't have any health insurance to help pay for it. I couldn't just get a job and leave my sick two-year-old with someone. Going to live with my parents was the only logical choice."

"You could've done that without the divorce," Liz commented, before she could stop herself.

"Do you think I don't know that?" Peggy demanded hotly. "I know I should've stuck by him, even with the prison sentence. But I—I was ashamed of what he'd done. I was ashamed that my husband had tried to steal, even if it was to support us. I was ashamed that my daughter had to grow up visiting her father in prison. I was ashamed of the stigma that prison carries. I couldn't handle all of that with my sick daughter with no support, so I—I left him and came here.

"I've regretted it ever since, even if I _have_ remarried."

"I'm sorry if my presence makes it worse," Liz responded quietly, putting her hand on the table.

"It did at first," Peggy acknowledged, looking back at her. Then she put her hand on Liz's and continued, "But after talking with you and seeing how good you are with Cassie… I—I'm glad that she has you to take care of her."


	13. Chapter 12

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. One of the challenging things about writing these prequel stories is that it's hard to have any suspense; I assume that if you're reading this story, you probably have some understanding of my other stories, so you know about VISION, and you know how this story has to end. The most fun part of prequel stories (I think) is the seeing _how_ we get from where the story starts to what we already know is coming.

I'm glad that Peggy is more of a sympathetic character after the last chapter. Unfortunately, that's the last that we really see her in this story.

* * *

"Rick, I see a light on in Building One again," Scott reported resignedly over his radio later that same night. He was standing alone just outside the security building sipping coffee from his thermos. He shivered a little, pulled his windbreaker up a little higher at the collar, and held the thermos tighter in both hands. "Anyone signed in on the computer?"

"No; the last person to sign out was the boss around 9, so the only people here should be security. You going to go check it out again?" Rick asked through the radio.

Scott debated for a moment. "Yeah, I'd better," he finally answered.

"Do you need backup? Considering what happened last time…"

"Don't remind me," Scott groaned, rolling his right shoulder and reaching up to feel it with his left hand instinctively. He thought a bit before answering, "No, I don't think I need backup; it looks like it's the same window as last time, so it's probably just that same Stark employee working late again. He probably just followed someone else in without swiping his card and lost track of time. Again."

"Ten-four," Rick responded, "but you'd better check in every three minutes to be on the safe side. And let me know if anything even _feels_ off."

"You got it, mother," Scott joked.

Scott broke into a quick jog toward the office building. His breath fogged up in front of his mouth every time he breathed. When he arrived at the front door, he slid his security badge in front of the card reader while typing the security override code into the keypad. The door slid open noiselessly, and Scott slowly stepped inside. He swung his flashlight down the opposite hallway from where he was going and waved it about quickly with practiced ease: It was clear. He turned and started walking briskly down the hall, barely giving a thought to checking the other rooms between the entrance and the room with the light. The one he wanted was on his left, and a square of yellow light was spilling out through the window in the door. When he reached the door, he reached down with his right hand to swipe his security ID card in front of the reader. Before doing so, however, he looked in, and nearly dropped his flashlight in shock.

A man stood next to the right wall of Dr. Pym's office, back turned to the door, hiding his face. In front of the man, it looked like a panel of the light brown wooden wall was missing. In its place, Scott could see a recessed alcove with smooth space-age steel walls, and what looked like a control panel on the side farthest from the door. Scott saw a row of four cubbies, each with a mannequin standing up in it. The mannequin on the far right nearest to the door was naked. The two in the middle were dressed in suits of skintight spandex. The man was in the process of replacing another spandex suit on the final mannequin, the one farthest to the left away from the door; all he could see of it was red, and black highlights on the sides of the chest. A silvery-gray helmet with a pair of antennae sticking out of the top sat atop the mannequin's head. Scott felt his jaw drop and nearly hit the floor. He knew what this was: _It's the Ant-Man!_

Scott's eye was finally drawn to the figure standing in front of the hidden alcove. He wore a white undershirt and black athletic shorts, but the right sleeve of his shirt was pulled up. Scott could see a white bandage wrapped around the upper right arm. He saw a streak of red bleeding through the white.

Scott started when the radio handset on his shoulder squawked, "Lang, what's going on?" Through the window he saw the man jump nearly a foot in the air and whip around to face him when he heard the same thing through the door. When the man turned toward him, Scott recognized the face as that of Dr. Pym.

"It's nothing. Just a Stark employee here late again," Scott responded into the radio, still watching Pym through the window. "I'll resolve this situation and be back in a while." His eye caught a quick movement from Dr. Pym. The loose wall panels quickly slid together covering the alcove. Finally remembering the security card still dangling limply in his hand, Scott swiped it and listened to the click.

"Dr. Pym?" Scott said hesitantly when the door was open.

"Mr. Lang, what are you doing here?" Pym asked guiltily, just as the panels finished sliding back into place over the secret alcove next to him.

"I could ask you the same question, sir," Scott responded. "I was standing outside when I saw a light in the building coming from your office, so I came to investigate."

"Ah, I suppose after the last time you nearly caught me I should've remembered to turn my light off," Pym said ruefully, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"So… I'm guessing you're going to say this is a 'Pay no attention to the "Ant-Man" behind the curtain' moment, right?" Scott smirked. "Of course," he thought aloud, "that would make me an annoying little yappy dog." He shrugged. "Eh, I've been called worse." Without waiting for a response, he gestured toward the wall panels and asked, "So… what _is_ behind the curtain?"

"That, oh that's…" Pym stopped, saw the determined look in Scott's eyes, and sighed. Resignedly, he said, "I guess at this point there's no point trying to hide it from you."

To the left of the hidden alcove, Pym slid a picture of an anthill to the left on a hinge, uncovering a keypad. He quickly typed in four numbers, and Scott saw a light blink green as the pad clicked. The wall panels covering the alcove slid back an inch and started sliding back into the wall on either side along tracks. Scott stared in awe as the moving panels revealed everything inside the alcove. Scott saw a pair of computer monitors built into the wall on the left side of the alcove, with a computer keyboard that slid out of the wall underneath. Various buttons, levers, and dials covered the wall around the computer monitors. A speaker to the right of the computer set up started chirping out what sounded like police reports. Above the computer monitors Scott saw what looked like a radar screen blinking as the radar swept. On the screen, Scott could see differently-shaped-and-colored icons moving around in irregular patterns.

Scott's eyes turned next to the four mannequins set up in cubbies taking up the majority of the space in the alcove. The one to the farthest left held the Ant-Man uniform which Dr. Pym had been replacing when Scott looked through the window. Above the mannequin Scott saw two long rows of medals and plaques, one of which bore a golden key.

Next to it was a more effeminate-looking black outfit shaped to conform to a smaller and more petite female body. The outfit had a yellow lower torso and thin yellow stripes down the legs, ending with black boots. A pair of delicate clear insectoid wings stuck out from the back of the suit, pointed downward toward the floor. Instead of a large helmet with antennae, this mannequin had a black mask which covered the eyes, leaving the cheeks and mouth visible. Above this mannequin Scott saw two rows with slightly less medals and plaques. Several of the medals and plaques, including a golden key, were identical to the ones above the Ant-Man suit.

The third mannequin in the line was colored in the opposite pattern of the previous one: Bright yellow, with thick black stripes going up the sides of the chest, ending in exaggerated black epaulets that extended above the shoulders. The legs were also yellow with black stripes and black boots. Like the previous one, a pair of delicate clear wings protruded from the back and pointed down at the floor. This mannequin had a skintight head-covering facemask and goggles with a pair of antennae protruding from where the ears would be. There were fewer medals displayed above this suit, though Scott recognized a Congressional Medal of Honor.

Scott was surprised to see that the final mannequin was empty, though he could see a pair of garment bags hanging behind the mannequin. Through a window in the first one he caught a glimpse of dark blue and gold. Above the empty mannequin was a row of awards nearly as long as that above the Ant-Man suit.

On the right wall of the alcove were nearly a hundred drawers built into the wall, along with a piece of equipment built into a recessed counter that reminded Scott of an upside-down microscope. Below the microscope device was a long row of small silver canisters. Looking closer at the drawers, Scott noticed that they were labeled: "Lock Pick," "M-16," "Colt .44," ".357 Sig.," "Rope," and the like. Reaching into one labeled "Rocket Launcher," Scott pulled out what looked like a toy replica of a rocket launcher. Bemused, he turned it over a couple times in his hand before returning it to the drawer. Before he did so, however, he looked into the drawer, and was even more surprised to see what looked like five more mini rocket launchers.

Scott gaped at the different equipment and suits with his mouth hanging open for a full minute. "What _is_ all this?" he finally asked in amazement.

"This is all my hero equipment," Pym answered proudly. "Everything I've been collecting for the last 40 years."

"It's amazing," Scott finally said. "What is that golden key, and why do you have two of them?"

"That? That's the Key to the City which the Mayor of Chicago gave us back in 1967 for rescuing the city from the Porcupine," Pym replied, looking at the plaque fondly, seemingly lost in thought.

"All of my other projects and inventions, and all that stuff I wrote—that's all nothing. _This_ is my real life's work," he continued, sweeping his arms out to encompass the entire alcove. However, he stopped when his right arm came up to shoulder height. He flinched and reached up to grab the bandage with his left hand.

"That looks fresh," Scott observed with concern, taking a step closer to Dr. Pym. "What happened?"

"There was a three-man team trying to rob a jewelry store downtown tonight. I picked it up with my scanners, and went to investigate. I took out two of them without any problems, but the last one got me with a knife before I could finally subdue him," Dr. Pym explained ruefully, wincing as he continued rubbing the bandage. He chuckled, "I guess I'm just not as young as I once was!"

Scott pulled the first aid kit off his belt and said, "If you'd like me to, I can see about fixing that bandage for you. But you'll have to tell me about all this in exchange."

Pym gave Scott another appraising look, sizing him up. Finally, he sighed, nodded, and pulled a wooden chair over to the alcove. He collapsed into it, gestured for Scott to pull the wooden stool out of the alcove, and then offered his right arm to him. "Deal," he said, pulling out a water bottle and downing half with a single gulp.


	14. Chapter 13

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"Back in the early '60s I was a young researcher working in the R and D department of Stark Enterprises," Pym began. "I had just graduated from Cal Tech with Ph.D.s in chemistry and physics, so Howard Stark put me to work on a team working on an alternate energy source. One night I was working late in the lab when I accidentally discovered a gaseous particle that would cause an object to shrink or expand—"

"How could you possibly discover something like that _accidentally_?" Scott asked incredulously, applying pressure to the wound on Pym's shoulder.

"I was conducting an experiment with a chemical formula my team had come up with. I thought that by infusing the chemicals with Gamma Rays I could kick the reaction into overdrive," Pym replied.

"Let me guess: it didn't work," Scott observed wryly.

Pym laughed, "Actually, it did work. A little too well, actually. The Gamma Rays hit the vial and caused a chemical reaction I wasn't expecting. The chemicals atomized and vaporized. When they hit the countertop, it almost instantly disappeared."

"So what had happened?"

"I looked back at the tape in slow-motion, and saw that the countertop had begun to shrink when the particles touched it," Pym explained. "When I looked a little closer at where the counter had been, I found a tiny countertop sitting on the ground. I conducted the experiment again, captured some of the particles in a special container I had designed, and found a way to analyze them. Apparently the Gamma Rays completely changed the chemical composition, broke the chemicals down into subatomic particles. Further experimentation showed that with the proper concentration I could control the rate and extent of shrinking. I named them 'Pym Particles' since I was the one to discover it."

"So why have I never heard of 'Pym Particles'?" Scott wondered.

"I never published my discovery," answered Pym simply. "I know I could have made a lot of money off of it, but I didn't want it falling into the wrong hands. The ability to shrink yourself could be a powerful tool for the wrong people."

"But you wound up using it, sir."

"Well, I didn't exactly have much of a choice," Pym replied with a shrug. "when I made my discovery, I immediately brought it to Howard Stark's attention. He wasn't sure how to use it, but bought the rights to the formula, anyways. He gave me a generous settlement; I get paid every time Stark Industries uses it, though it doesn't exactly happen that often… Anyways, when Anton Vanko was deported back to Russia, he brought two pieces of information with him. One was the ARC reactor, which he couldn't reproduce, and the other was the knowledge of my formula's existence. When he couldn't build an ARC reactor, he was desperate to find a way to redeem himself to the KGB. He finally told the KGB about my formula, and they sent a team to steal it."

Pym paused for a minute while Scott adjusted the bandage. Finally, he continued, "It didn't exactly work out for them. I was working late in the lab the night they tried to steal it, and heard them break in. I saw their shadows outside my office door through the window, and didn't know what else to do. I grabbed a vial of Particles, pulled the seal off, stuck my thumb over the opening, and let the Particles hit my body just as the door slammed open." He laughed and shook his head. "You should have seen the look on those agents' faces when I disappeared right in front of their eyes. I even left a little pile of clothing behind—unintended consequence. I was somewhat surprised it didn't actually kill me, more so than I was that I'd shrunk to about half an inch tall. I slipped out of the pile of clothing and ducked under my desk. A couple of the agents looked under the desk to try to find me, but I hid behind a leg. When they weren't looking, I sliced into the phone line and got a message out to the police in Morse code. Then I climbed up onto the desk and found the KGB agents rifling through my files looking for the formula. I grabbed a paperclip, bent it straight, and then picked up one of my pencils. I ran at them and took them by surprise. I stabbed the closest one in the hand with the pencil, ran up the second one's arm, and punched him in the jaw. To my surprise, it knocked the man out cold. I jumped off him while he was falling, grabbed onto the third man, and stabbed the paperclip into his chest as far as it would go. I rode him to the ground and saw a shadow over me from the last guy's shoe. He brought his foot down on me; I caught it with my hands and pushed back with all my might. The guy fell back and hit his head on the edge of my lab counter on the way down. That was when I realized how much good I could do with the Particles."

"So does that explain…?" Scott gestured toward the hidden alcove.

"The first one there is mine, for my first alias," Pym nodded. "The day after I fought off the KGB agents, I was experimenting with the particles again, and had the misfortune to stir up an anthill on the Stark Industries grounds. When I escaped from the ants, I had an idea to tap into insect communications with radio frequencies. A little experimentation, and I managed to isolate the correct radio frequency. I engineered the helmet rig using biological and electronic components to generate the proper radio commands, along with a basic computer program to handle the crossover from insect thought patterns to human brain waves."

Scott gave him a surprised look. "So you can actually communicate with insects?"

"Of course; weren't you paying attention when I saved your life?" Pym responded, equally surprised.

"I sort of had more on my mind," Scott replied sheepishly. "You were actually controlling those bees with your mind?"

"Yes," Pym answered with a smile. "The Ant-Man persona is really the only one where I use that a lot. The one next to it belonged to my wife Janet. When her father was murdered, she went looking for revenge. I met up with her when she was staking out the murderer's hideout. She was ten seconds away from charging in with nothing but her stiletto heels to fight with when I stopped her and convinced her to let me help her. I made the Wasp suit for her so the two of us could take that criminal down. I gave her wings, along with a new Bio-Sting that I'd just created. It taps into the person's own bio-electrical current and emits it as a blast of electrical energy. I discovered the bio-electrical current when I—"

"The Wasp, Doctor…"

"Oh, right," he said, blinking. "Anyways, the two of us went in and took down the murderer—you'll notice her suit doesn't have the same type of helmet as the Ant-Man suit, since she was never really a fan of controlling insects, plus I actually liked still being able to see her hair… So she flew in first and set up in the rafters of the warehouse. I followed a few minutes later with an army of ants. My distraction was exactly what she needed to knock the man unconscious so we could take him into custody," Pym finished.

"Impressive," Scott observed.

"You should have seen her that first time we fought together. She'd only had the wings for about an hour, but it was like she'd been flying her whole life… She was everywhere at once, and nowhere at the same time… I think that was when I fell in love with her…" Pym trailed off, momentarily lost in thought.

A moment later he picked up his train of thought again. "We started working for the government a couple years later part-time. That picture of us in front of the Eiffel Tower on my desk? We were sightseeing to build our cover as American tourists. We were really in Paris because the CIA had received information that the KGB was going to try infiltrating the U.S. embassy. Our job was to be in the embassy undercover when the KGB attacked. They set off a car bomb outside as a distraction, and a man broke in through a second-floor window. We both took cover, shrank down, and went upstairs to investigate. The first room we checked was the ambassador's office. We found the ambassador lying on the floor, a Soviet assassin standing beside him with a boot on his back, pointing a gun at his head. The hand the assassin was holding the gun with—actually the whole arm—looked cybernetic. I instructed a pair of hornets to sting the assassin's other hand just before he was going to shoot. The shot went wild. He was looking around wildly for the source of the stinging, and the ambassador started crawling away. The assassin went to shoot again, but Janet hit him in the chest with a Bio-Sting. The assassin fell backward, and I grew back to normal size and went to subdue him. We fought for a couple minutes, but he managed to escape through a window." Dr. Pym picked up the picture in question, flipped it over, and pulled a photograph out from behind the one of himself and Janet in Paris. This photo showed the two of them wearing the Ant-Man and Wasp suits that Scott had seen, and shaking hands with—

"Is that President Johnson?" Scott asked incredulously.

"Yes, it is," Pym replied proudly. "Back during the Cold War, the government liked to acknowledge certain extraordinary actions by American superheroes. Saving a U.S. ambassador from an assassination attempt certainly qualified. Those medals above the suits in the alcove? Those are all ones we received, mostly from the U.S. government. These particular awards are on the far left above the Ant-Man and Wasp suits."

"What's the third suit in there?" asked Scott, pointing.

"I actually created a couple of alternate aliases for myself," explained Pym. "That is the Yellowjacket, my first alternate identity. He's actually patterned after Janet's Wasp identity: flight, Bio-Stingers, only occasionally controls insects. He's much more brash and impulsive than I am. I originally created him because I felt like Ant-Man was being forgotten and ignored by other people. Well, that and I wanted to experiment with some of Janet's abilities."

"What's with the empty mannequin?" Scott wondered, pointing to the last mannequin in the secret alcove.

"My second alternate identity," Pym answered. "About 15 years ago I was experimenting on the Pym Particles and discovered a way to expand an object's mass greater than its original size. Using it on myself gave me increased strength proportionate to my increased size. I developed the Goliath as an alternate identity which would allow me to make greater use of the size and strength increase."

"So where is it now?"

"I retired last year, remember?" Pym responded simply.

"Yeah, but, from being a superhero, too?"

"From being a superhero, from Stark Industries, from teaching, everything. Of course," Pym acknowledged with a shrug, "You already know that it hasn't been much of a retirement. I still teach introductory chemistry at UCLA once a year, and come in here once or twice a week as a consultant."

"And apparently you also work as a superhero," Scott noted.

"Janet doesn't exactly know," Pym said sheepishly. "I think she suspects that I'm still in the game, but she doesn't really want to know more. That's why it's all here instead of having anything at home. But I did give up the Goliath persona last year when I decided I had found a worthy successor. Now I only take the Ant-Man suit out occasionally to rescue defenseless security guards!" He smirked at Scott when he said the last part.

"This is all really impressive, Doctor, now what's that bank of drawers over there? Is that really a rocket launcher in that drawer?" Scott asked, giving Pym a look.

"Actually, last I checked there are six in there," Pym responded. "Those are all full of equipment that I've collected over the years and found useful. I shrink them down using Pym Particles, and when I shrink down, they are the right size for me to use, or else I can expand them to the right size."

"Wow."

"So, can I trust you to be… discreet with this information, Mr. Lang?" Pym asked, looking Scott square in the eye.

"Well, considering that you saved my life last week, I certainly owe you that much, Dr. Pym," Scott replied, nodding. "I won't tell a soul any of what you've told me."


	15. Chapter 14

AN: Thanks to jakefan, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. Janet will make a cameo appearance toward the end of this story (her first in my stories), but she doesn't play much of a role beyond that. I've mapped out a couple more stories, and Janet will play much more of a role in the "Avengers Origin—Wasp" story, in which she will choose her successor.

As far as the Pyms being so much older than the other Avengers, I had a couple reasons for that. First, Pym's story is set much earlier (of course, _all_ the Avengers' stories are set a few decades ago, around the time when I set Pym in my story…), and I decided to put his story a few decades in the past in keeping with that, though he is still active with S.H.I.E.L.D. as a technical consultant (explored later in this story and the "Wasp" story). This also fits with my conception of S.H.I.E.L.D. as dating all the way back to World War II and the Strategic Scientific Reserve, and I'm sure they would have been _very_ interested in someone experimenting with quasi-supernatural size-altering chemicals, particularly when such a thing has serious applications in covert operations. I haven't decided how many (if any) Avengers will predate the events of _Iron Man_, though I did slip a couple "Easter eggs" into "Avengers Plan B" alluding to some early Marvel characters/Avengers. The second reason is that from what I've read, the _Ant-Man_ movie will handle the Pym/Lang storyline in a similar manner, with Pym as a scientist in the 60s and Lang as his present-day successor. When that comes out, I may update this story to make it conform to the MCU more closely.

Since I haven't mentioned it yet, I suppose I should add that virtually all the characters and the idea behind the plot belong to Marvel, not me.

* * *

"Mr. Lang, I've reviewed Cassie's medical file, as well as the latest blood work that Dr. Watson sent over last month," Dr. Michelinie announced, walking into the waiting room. Cassie was in an examination room still with Liz and the nurse; Cassie had begged Liz to come with them that day.

"What's the verdict, Doctor?" Scott asked, rising from his chair.

"I'm afraid that I have some bad news," Dr. Michelinie answered, looking away. He looked down at his clipboard before returning his gaze to the worried father in front of him. "Her white blood cell count is extremely elevated, substantially so since her last blood panel was taken. Her hemoglobin is also elevated. I'm afraid this means that her condition is beginning to deteriorate. We need to figure out something different for her within the next two weeks, or her condition could deteriorate too badly for us to help her. Without the proper treatment, she could be dead within two weeks."

"Two weeks…? Okay, Doctor, but you do know what to do for her, right? I mean, Dr. Watson said that you're the best in the area…" Scott pushed.

"Unfortunately, that's the second piece of bad news," Dr. Michelinie responded. "I do not know of anything I can do for her now."

Scott felt his knees suddenly go limp at the news. He fell backward into the chair. He almost didn't notice the doctor rushing over and kneeling directly in front of him. He barely felt the doctor putting two fingers up to his neck and feeling for a pulse. The cold of the stethoscope on his chest didn't reach him through the fabric of his shirt. He couldn't hear the doctor calling his name, over and over. All he could feel was a crushing weight on his chest, his heart thudding, far faster and louder than normal. All he could hear was Cassie's voice saying, "I love you, Daddy!" His hands started shaking uncontrollably. He couldn't stop himself from thinking, over and over again, _My little girl's dying, and there's nothing I can do for her. After all this, she's dying, and I can't save her_. Before he realized what was happening, he vomited on the floor.

"Sir? Mr. Lang?" Dr. Michelinie asked hesitantly, pushing a water bottle into his hand. "Stay with me."

Scott blinked numbly and looked into the doctor's face. "There's nothing you can do?" he asked weakly, helplessly. "My daughter is dying and there's nothing you can do? Is there another doctor we can talk to? Can't you give me _any_ hope?"

"Relax, Mr. Lang," answered Dr. Michelinie, unscrewing the top on the water bottle and forcing Scott to take a swig. "I said that there isn't anything _I_ can do. That doesn't mean that all hope is lost. I happen to know a brilliant scientist and doctor named Erica Sondheim. She's a pioneer researcher in cancer treatment and specializes in childhood leukemia. In fact, I read in the _LA Medical Journal_ that she recently made a major breakthrough in treating leukemia cases like your daughter's. If she doesn't know what to do for your daughter, no one will."

Scott swished the water around in his mouth and spat it out again in the garbage can against the wall. After rinsing his mouth twice more, he could no longer taste the bile in his mouth. He swallowed a couple mouthfuls of water. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and slow his racing heartbeat. He looked down at his hands, and still noticed a slight tremor, though the water bottle wasn't shaking as badly anymore. When he finally thought he had regained control, he looked up at the doctor, who was staring back at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy on his face.

"I'm sorry," Scott finally managed to whisper.

"Please… I'm an oncologist," Dr. Michelinie replied, brushing the apology off easily. "I work with people in absolutely desperate situations. Many are afraid for themselves or their loved ones. Your reaction is no worse than any others I've seen.

"Call Dr. Sondheim. She will be able to help Cassie," Dr. Michelinie urged.

"I will," Scott nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

"Dr. Sondheim's office," the cheerful receptionist said after the phone had rung once.

"Um, hi," Scott said. "I need an appointment with Dr. Sondheim. My daughter, Cassie, has leukemia, and Dr. David Michelinie referred me to Dr. Sondheim because he thinks that she can help Cassie."

The receptionist didn't answer for a moment. "Sir, I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but Dr. Sondheim has been missing for two weeks."

"Missing? What do you mean, 'missing'?" Scott demanded.

"She went home from work one night, and she didn't come in to work the next morning," the receptionist explained. "When she didn't call and we didn't see her for two days, we called the police to report it. I don't know much, but the police said that when they checked her apartment, she wasn't there, and they didn't see any signs of a struggle, or anything out of place. In fact, the apartment looked immaculate."

"I detect a hint of skepticism," Scott observed.

"She invited me over to her apartment a couple times," the receptionist said. "Her apartment was never clean. She told me she worked too much to bother with doing a lot of cleaning, and hiring a service is just too much of a hassle."

"So you don't think she just left for vacation."

"No."

"Damn," Scott cursed. "But what can I do about my daughter? Dr. Michelinie told me that her condition is starting to get worse, and Dr. Sondheim is her only chance."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what to tell you," the receptionist answered. "I've been referring a lot of Dr. Sondheim's patients to the Mayo Clinic; maybe they could give you an idea."

"No," Scott said. "We took her there when she was two, and they couldn't do anything for her."

"Then I really don't know what to tell you," the receptionist told him sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

Scott pressed the "End" button on the phone and threw it across the room directly onto a sofa cushion. The phone bounced once and fell off the sofa onto the floor. Almost the same moment that it hit the floor, it started to ring. Slowly, Scott walked over and picked it up. When he didn't recognize the number, he was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but finally decided to answer it.

"Hello?" he asked hesitantly.

"You've been a busy boy, Mr. Lang," the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line said.

"Excuse me?"

"Only just got out of prison—what, half a year ago?—and you've already saved a girl's life, moved in with her and gotten a job at her father's company, gotten shot twice… I could go on, but you get the picture."

Scott suddenly felt his blood run cold. "You're watching me? Who is this?"

"Who I am is unimportant, Mr. Lang," the voice laughed mirthlessly. "What's more important is what I want. And what I can do."

Without waiting for Scott to answer, the voice went on, "Your daughter Cassandra has childhood leukemia. How I know that is unimportant. What _is_ important is that I know someone who can cure her. I also know that you know that she can cure your daughter."

"Who the hell is this?" Scott demanded.

The voice ignored him and continued, "I… acquired… a Dr. Erica Sondheim recently. Yes, you know the name. She's the one woman who can save your daughter's life."

"So what do you want from me?" Scott asked, legs suddenly feeling weak.

"There is a memory card in Lab 11-B of the Stark Industries Research and Development Department. It is labeled 'SI-JX-10D.' You will retrieve that memory card from the lab and deliver it to me."

"Where?"

"After you have acquired the memory card, you will receive instructions on delivery," the voice answered.

"And in exchange?" Scott asked.

"And in exchange, I will release Dr. Erica Sondheim so she can treat your daughter. You have two weeks to decide what you're going to do. Well, actually, you have as long as you want to decide what you're going to do; it's just that your _daughter_ only has two weeks for you to decide whether or not to save her life. Choose quickly." Before Scott could say anything else, the phone line clicked dead.

Scott fell backward onto the sofa, grateful that Liz had taken Cassie to the park as soon as they returned from the appointment with Dr. Michelinie. Neither of them needed to know about this. _So some psycho is holding my girl's life in his hands, and he's just laughing about it. How do I have such bad luck? And how the _hell_ do they know so much about me?_ He remembered that there had been a huge front-page article about him after he had saved Liz in the diner. _That explains some of it, but not how they know where we live, or about Cassie—because I _know_ I didn't say anything about her to that reporter, or for that matter about the Stark Industries incident_…

Scott stood up and started pacing from one end of the apartment to the other. _They want me to give them company secrets, secrets that I promised Mr. Byrne that I would protect_, he thought. _I can't betray his trust like that, not after he took such a huge risk on me. And after Mr. Allred agreed to keep me, even _after_ he found out what I had done; what I am._

_That's their fault for trusting an ex-con and anyways, you promised Mr. Byrne that you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your chance to be a good father to Cassie. That means doing everything in your power to save her life. That means doing _everything_! If you do this, it will save Cassie!_ he shot back at himself.

_And that makes it better?_ he demanded.

_This is no different from last time_, he reasoned.

_And last time I got caught and spent four years in prison!_ he argued. _I lost four years with Cassie for nothing. I can't do that to her again; if it didn't work, she would die before I got out!_

He wrung his hands and thought, resignedly, _And if you _don't_ do what they say, then she'll die anyways._ He glanced around the room and caught sight of his security badge sitting on the ledge next to the door. _This _is_ different from last time. Last time, you were an amateur. You didn't know how to avoid the guards, how to avoid the cameras. That guard found you, but they would have caught you anyways._

_So I'm a bad criminal. So what?_

_So this time you know better_, he reasoned. _You know the Stark Industries security system from the inside. You know the blind spots, you know the guards, you know everything. You can get in and out, and no one would be the wiser._

_I—I can't do this to them. It's too big a risk_, he thought. _I can't bear to see Cassie grow up without me; to see the betrayal in Liz's eyes when she finds out her "hero" is just a career criminal, and saving her life was just a fluke_.

_You don't have a choice. You have to save Cassie, and this is the only way to do it. You don't have a choice._


	16. Chapter 15

AN: Thanks to Qweb, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, and jakefan for reviewing the last chapter. Shout-out to jakefan for recognizing that David Michelinie is the name of one of the Iron Man writers. He was also one of the creators of the character Scott Lang (along with John Byrne).

I'm trying to decide which story to start working on next. I had been planning to write the "Avenger Origins—Ms. Marvel" story next, but I'm strongly considering writing "Avenger Origins—Wasp" first. "Ms. Marvel" takes place during and immediately following _Thor_, and explores some of how she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and how she received her powers. "Wasp" will be something of a sequel to this story, but focus more on Hank and Janet Pym, along with one of the other characters from this story. Let me know in reviews or PMs which story you would like to see first.

* * *

"This is Dr. Michelinie," the voice on the other end of the phone said.

"Doctor, it's Scott Lang, Cassie's father. I called Dr. Sondheim's office yesterday, and they said she's missing."

"Oh no! What happened, Mr. Lang?" Dr. Michelinie asked, concerned.

"The receptionist didn't know," Scott answered. He was silent for a minute, unwilling to tell the doctor what he knew. "Doctor… do you know of anyone else who can help my daughter? I don't think she can wait for them to find Dr. Sondheim."

"Not off the top of my head," Dr. Michelinie replied. "Erica is the best childhood leukemia specialist in the state. Unfortunately, she's also a bit of a loner: No colleagues, very few research assistants—none at the moment… I'm sure she left notes, but it would probably take even another childhood leukemia specialist at least a month to get up to speed, let alone figure out how to make her treatment work for Cassie."

Scott's shoulders slumped. "Doctor—"

"Let me make some phone calls," Dr. Michelinie interrupted gently. "I'll call around. If I have your permission, I'll show Cassie's test results to a few friends at the hospital and see if they know of anyone else. Okay?"

"Yes—Absolutely. Thank you, Doctor," Scott finally said, though he didn't let himself get his hopes up.

* * *

"_Lukey, I'm getting worried," Scott said quietly._

"_What do you mean?" Luke asked. The two of them were sitting in their cell, Luke on his bed and Scott on the chair._

"_I keep thinking about the Aryans," Scott explained. "They said they would get back at us for fighting them off, knocking out their leader…"_

"_Old news, Scott. Too many dangers in this place as it is; can't get caught up with just one."_

"_But it's been four months, Lukey. Not a peep from them. Do you really think they forgot?"_

"_No, but I don't see what's so special today," Luke responded carefully._

"_I caught a couple of the guards looking at us at lunch today. I think they're planning something," Scott muttered, getting up and walking over to the cell door. He looked up and down the hallway suspiciously before walking back to his chair and sitting down again._

"_So? What makes you say that?"_

"_So at least one of them is in the Aryans' pocket," Scott told him. "I don't like it."_

_No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a pair of guards showed up at the door to their cell. Scott recognized one as Rackham, though he did not know the other._

_Officer Rackham ordered, "Cage. Get up. Time for your… check up… at Medical."_

"_I already had my appointment this month," Luke said suspiciously._

"_Don't argue, Cage," the other officer told him. "You know the drill. Hands out the window."_

_Luke complied, and the officers shackled his wrists tightly. Then they opened the cell door and ordered him out. They turned and started pushing him down the hallway to the left._

"_Hang on, Medical's the other way," Scott shouted, stepping up to the cell bars and shaking them furiously. "Where are you taking him?"_

"_Damn it," Scott muttered to himself._

* * *

_I couldn't do anything for Lukey when they took him away to experiment on, and I can't really do anything for Cassie now_, Scott thought to himself later that same day. _At least now there's _something_ I can do for Cassie. Even if I don't like it._

Scott's thoughts were interrupted at that moment by the ringing phone. Scott picked it up instantly, not daring to breathe.

"Mr. Lang?" Dr. Michelinie's voice said on the other end.

"Yes?"

"I talked to every oncologist I know in the state," Dr. Michelinie reported. "I found a pair of childhood leukemia researchers and sent them Cassie's test results. One said he was too busy with his current patients to give it more than a cursory look, and told me he didn't know of anything else to do for her. The other has an office up in San Francisco. I sent him the file, and he told me he would look into it. I just got the call back from him."

"And?"

"And he said that his standard treatments are all the same things that the other doctors have already done," Dr. Michelinie answered resignedly. "He did say he would take a look at Dr. Sondheim's notes and try to get up to speed on her methods. He said he would call back tomorrow with what he finds."

"Thank you for keeping me informed, Doctor," Scott said disappointedly. "I appreciate you doing this for us."

"I will call back tomorrow when I have more information." The line went dead.

* * *

_Scott sat at a computer terminal in the prison computer lab during recreation time about three hours after Luke had been taken away by the guards. He was typing furiously on the computer._

"_They didn't check him into Medical," Scott muttered to himself softly. He opened another window and ran a search of the prison's files. Finding what he was looking for, he quickly backtracked out of the prison records, erasing every trace of his presence._

"_I found you, you son of a bitch," he whispered, making his way out of the computer lab as quickly and quietly as he could. He turned to the right and found a maintenance closet. He pulled out his work key, opened the closet, and started rummaging around. He pulled out a mop and janitorial cart, closed the door, and started pushing his cart down the hallway._

"_Lang, what're you doing?" a corrections officer asked when they passed each other in the hallway. He looked at Lang's cart suspiciously._

"_Officer Yu told me there was a spill in C Block. He said he'd pay me overtime to take care of it now," Scott replied, indicating the mop._

_The officer gave him another suspicious look before nodding and dismissing him. The officer walked away without sparing Scott another glance._

_Scott made it the rest of the way to his destination without incident. He stood outside a locked research lab with a keypad on the door. Looking through the window in the door, Scott saw that the lab was empty except for a single hospital bed with a man strapped down. Wires ran from all the man's major muscle groups to monitors spread out around the room. Scott noticed a cluster of IV bags filled with blue liquid on a tree next to the bed. The tubes coming out from the bottoms of the bags were attached to needles stuck into the man's major muscle groups. Beneath the wires and tubes Scott immediately recognized Luke._

_Scott pulled a screwdriver out of his janitorial cart and tested its weight in his hand. He slipped it into a slit on the bottom of the keypad, pried it open, and pulled out a couple wires. He quickly exposed the ends of two of them and touched them together. The light on the pad turned green and the door opened with a click. Scott propped it open with his mop while he replaced the wires and reattached the keypad. Satisfied, he slipped through the opening, leaving it propped open with the mop._

"_Lukey?" he asked._

"_Scott? What are you doing here?" a raspy voice came back. Luke strained his head against the forehead strap so he could see who was in the room. Worn from the exertion, his head fell back against the hard pillow._

"_I needed to check and see if you were okay," Scott replied, walking over to examine the clipboard at the end of the bed._

"_How'd you find me?"_

"_Computers," Scott smirked. "Officer Rackham used his keycard on the security door at the end of this hall five minutes after taking you away. I looked into all the rooms on this hall and saw that they were all restricted for Dr. Burstein's experiments. Wasn't hard to connect the dots."_

"_The doctor was here when I arrived. He attached all these wires and tubes to me, and then he gave me a few shots. He's been gone about two hours, and said he'd be back around eight tonight to check on my progress," Luke told him._

"_What are they doing?"_

_Luke gave as much of a shrug as he could. "He didn't exactly say. Just asked if I knew the name 'Captain America.' I told him I grew up in Harlem; of course I've heard of the Brooklyn Defender. He asked if I wanted to be like him. Then he laughed."_

"_Son of a bitch," Scott breathed in amazement. "He's trying to start a new super-soldier program."_

"_Say what now? What the hell's he doing to me?" Luke demanded, badly concealed fear in his voice. He started pulling at the restraints on his wrists and upper arms._

"_He's trying to turn you into a super solder: Increased strength, endurance, healing ability, you name it. I read somewhere that Captain America took a bullet at the beginning of a fight one time. It healed by the time the fight was over. 'Course, that may have been the Battle of the Bulge, but still…" Scott told him. He added, "They've been trying to create a new Captain America ever since they created the first one."_

"_So now they're trying it with me. Great," Luke muttered. "So what's the plan now?"_

"_I don't know," Scott answered. "I'm not a doctor; I can't exactly unhook you, and they'd notice if I did."_

"_Check the IV," Luke told him. "That C.O. tampered with it, and with the computer against the wall, after the doctor left."_

_Scott stepped over to stand next to his bed and inspected the IV bag. Suspicious, he glanced back down at the chart in his hands and then at the control setting on the IV tube. "He must have changed the control setting; it says on here you should be getting 1 cc per minute of this stuff, but it's set to give you 20," Scott informed him, correcting the control setting as he did so._

"_Is it going to kill me?" Luke couldn't hide the fear in his voice this time._

"_I—I don't know, Lukey," Scott said hesitantly. "Let me check the computers."_

_Scott carefully maneuvered around the bed and between the wires to reach the computer. He sat down and quickly scanned through the program that was running. Nervously, he started typing in a separate window. He noticed a simulator program and pulled it up. After typing in some parameters, he pressed "Enter" and watched the simulator run._

"_Rackham must've embedded a virus in here as a back-up plan," Scott said, turning to face Luke. "If messing with the levels of that chemical didn't kill you, the virus was supposed to make the computer send a massive electric shock through your body. It's already supposed to give you a shock every few seconds, but this would have been several times the lethal dose of electricity."_

"_Aw hell—" Luke groaned._

_Scott cut in, "Don't worry. I isolated the virus and removed it from the system. I also found a simulator program on the computer which is supposed to predict how this experiment can go. I ran it with the higher dosage, and it supposedly would have killed you in another hour or so. Now that I've reduced it back to normal, though, I don't know whether it's going to turn you into Superman, but at least it shouldn't kill you."_

"_Thanks, man," Luke said with a sigh. "I owe you one."_

"_You saved my life, so I guess we're even," Scott said, giving him a half-smile. "Now I gotta get out of here before someone—"_

* * *

Scott's reverie was broken by the sound of the phone ringing again. On looking at the Caller ID, he saw that it was Dr. Michelinie's office calling again. Scott sighed and pressed the button to answer.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Lang?" Dr. Michelinie asked. "This is Dr. Michelinie again."

"Yes, hello, Doctor."

"I just heard back from that leukemia specialist in San Francisco that I told you about yesterday," Dr. Michelinie told him.

"And? Can he help Cassie?" Scott asked, hardly daring to breath.

He heard the doctor let out a breath on the other end of the phone. Scott's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, sir, but he doesn't think so. He spent several hours at Dr. Sondheim's office poring over her notes."

Scott didn't say anything, listening to his hopes fade away.

Dr. Michelinie continued, "He told me that her results are incredible: 87% success rate where other treatments have failed, many of them like Cassie's situation. Unfortunately, several pages of her notes are missing. Without those pages, there's no way for him to recreate Dr. Sondheim's treatment program."

Scott took a deep breath and let it out heavily. Finally he forced himself to speak. "Thank you, Doctor. I understand. You did what you could," he said, before ending the call. _Now I guess _I_'ll have to do what _I_ can…_


	17. Chapter 16

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. Thanks for the suggestions, though no one actually voted for the same story! I hadn't thought about Scarlet Witch's origin story, though I will add that to my list, along with Power Man (possibly combine the Heroes for Hire).

For those wondering what Scott's going to do, you might find out in this chapter, or it might be tomorrow!

* * *

"Evening, Lang," Rick called when Scott walked past the security control room the next night. He leaned out the door and added, "I didn't think you were working tonight."

"I'm not," Scott replied over his shoulder to him, forcing his voice to sound normal. He walked over to the armory and put his palm on the reader. The door slid open and his service weapon cycled to the front. Scott pulled it out along with a loaded magazine, which he slid into the handle before stowing the gun in his holster, and said, "I thought I'd come in tonight and put in my weekly target practice."

"Sounds good, man," Rick said with a nod, turning and stepping back into the control room.

Scott walked to the end of the hallway, turned to his right, and pushed the elevator button. The door slid open immediately and Scott stepped in. He pressed the "B" as the doors slid closed again. He rode it down to the basement in silence. The moment the door slid open, he got out and walked over to the row of empty shooting locations, grabbing a box of ammunition from the rack to his left as he went. He selected the station at the far end of the range and placed the box of ammo on the table to his right. With forced calmness, he loaded three magazines he'd taken from his locker and set them on the ledge in front of him within easy reach. He carefully put on his ear and eye protection before he picked up the range control and pressed a button. A silhouette target appeared on a track on the opposite end of the range. He pressed another control, and the target slid closer, stopping ten meters from where he stood. He pushed a third button, detached the release on his holster, thumbed the safety off on his gun, and took up his stance, forcing his breathing to slow as he did so. A light next to his head suddenly lit up.

In an instant, Scott whipped his gun out of the holster, brought it up to shoulder height, and pulled the trigger, relishing the feel of the .357 jumping in his hand and kicking back at him as the bullet fired. Scott rapidly shot his way through his first magazine, forcing himself to control his breathing and maintain a proper grip on the gun.

The moment he shot his last bullet, Scott hit the magazine release, letting the empty magazine drop into the basket at his feet. Before it reached the basket, Scott had already grabbed a fresh magazine from the ledge, slammed it home, pulled the action back to load the first bullet, and begun firing again. The entire process took less than three seconds.

After shooting through all four magazines, Scott allowed himself to breathe again and let the handgun drop to his side. He pressed the button, and watched the target slide closer to where he could pull it off the clip. He quickly replaced the silhouette target with a fresh one and glanced at the first one before tossing it away. The entire head had disappeared, replaced by a ragged, gaping hole. Scott sent the fresh target out to a distance of forty meters, reloaded his magazines, and set up to fire again.

Scott silently worked his way through the entire box of ammunition and about a dozen targets over the course of an hour. Before coming to work for Stark Industries, he hadn't held a gun in over 15 years, since the one time he went rifle shooting with his Boy Scout troop. His first trip to the shooting range hadn't gone well; he could barely hit the target for the first couple weeks. Since then, however, his aim had improved steadily. About a month in, he had realized that practicing at the range helped to calm him down and release stress. When he was focused on the feel of the gun in his hands, controlling the recoil, and making the slight necessary adjustments to his aim, there wasn't any room left in his mind to think about anything else. The stress melted away. He knew he needed to calm his nerves, or else he would make a serious mistake. And he couldn't afford to make any mistakes tonight.

Finally satisfied, Scott allowed himself to collapse into a chair at one of the tables in the middle of the basement and pulled out his gun cleaning kit. Slowly, methodically, he took the gun apart, piece by piece. He carefully brushed and oiled all the parts before wiping them down with a rag. While he worked, he practiced his breathing, forcing himself to take slow, regular breaths. He felt his still-racing heartbeat start to slow down and even out. Once he finished cleaning the gun parts, he spread a fresh layer of oil on them, wiped off the excess, and put it back together. When he was finally finished, he slowly walked over to the elevator, tossing his garbage in the trash on the way.

When he reached the main level, Scott walked back to the armory to check his gun back in. He was tempted to hold onto it for the night, but he knew that would raise automated alarms in the armory computer. And anyways, he didn't want to be tempted to shoot a friend. That would just make a bad situation worse.

After returning his gun supplies to his locker, Scott called "good night" to Rick, stepped out the back door, and walked over to his car. He'd been careful to park in one of the only blind spots in the employee parking lot where his car was completely invisible from security cameras. Scott climbed into the back seat and pulled his small duffel open. He carefully changed into dark-colored clothing and pulled on a black ski mask before taking out a container of face-paint to fill in the parts of his face that still showed under the face-mask. Once he was satisfied, Scott dropped the face-paint back into the duffel and pulled out his tablet. With a heavy sigh of regret, he turned it on and connected to the Stark Industries server remotely. The program he'd already activated masked his presence on the server the moment he connected. He waited a few minutes before activating the first program he'd created for this operation.

The tablet display changed to a split screen. On the left, Scott could see the feed from all the facility's security cameras in real time. On the right, he could see the view which would be fed into the monitors in the security control room. He watched as his car appeared on the security cameras on the right side and drove through various camera fields toward the gate, even as the live feed from the cameras didn't change. He saw his hand reach out of the car window and swipe an ID badge in front of the reader at the gate. On the camera, the gate swung open as the program commanded the security system to register that he had signed out, and the car drove down the driveway and out of view of the cameras. _Phase One complete_, Scott sighed. _It really shouldn't have been so easy._

He gave himself a few more minutes to prepare before checking out the locations of the security teams on his tablet. When he was satisfied that he was completely out of sight, he climbed out of the car. As soon as he was out, while he was still in the blind spot, he tapped the tablet screen, commanding another program to activate. He started walking toward the main Stark Industries building, careful not to move too quickly and attract attention if one of the guards were to look in his direction. As he reached each camera's field of vision, Scott tapped that camera view on the tablet. The program started playing a loop of the previous minute of that camera's feed, hiding Scott from the control room monitors.

Scott involuntarily shivered in the cold air. His breath came out as fog which hung in the air above his head. He pulled the black sweatshirt closer around his neck. _I shouldn't be _doing_ this_, he raged at himself.

_You don't have a choice_, he reminded himself forcefully.

Finally, he reached the main door, where he pulled out a wire and attached it from his tablet to a small hole on the side of the keypad on the door. At the press of a button, the door silently slid open without registering in the computer. Scott detached the wire, stepped inside, and heard the door shut behind him with a quiet _whoosh_. Without looking around himself, he hurried through the building, using his tablet to loop the security camera feeds as he went.

Scott's footsteps echoed eerily off the hallway walls. Scott knew that without employees at work, none of the security guards patrolled the main building at night, even after the break-in. However, that didn't make him feel any safer moving through the dark hallways without any light. At every corner, he half expected a dozen security guards to race up to him and slap cuffs on his wrists. He thought he could hear footsteps behind him, though he knew it was just his own footsteps, echoing off the walls all around and back at him. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he sped up anyways.

After what felt like hours but was only thirty minutes, Scott was looking at the "Research and Development" sign on a solid steel security door. This door was blocked by a biometric lock system along with a card reader and keypad. Scott slowly pulled out his multi-tool and carefully unscrewed the access panel next to the biometric lock. After feeling around for a minute, he found the USB connector which was used for updating the software on the system. Scott carefully pulled out a pair of wires, found their ends, detached them from their connectors, and twisted them together. Finally, he took the USB cable from his tablet and connected it to the USB connector in the biometric lock. He took another cable and attached it from the tablet to the keypad. When he was finally satisfied, he typed a command into the tablet. The security door slid open. Scott detached the tablet, reattached the wires in the biometric lock, and replaced the cover. He slipped through the opening just before it slid shut.

Scott looked back at the building plan on his tablet and located Lab 11-B. He cautiously walked down the corridor in front of him and turned left when it split. On the door at the far end of this hallway he saw a plaque that said "11-B." Ten yards from the door, however, Scott suddenly found himself unable to walk.

Time suddenly seemed to stop. Scott simply stood motionless, rooted in that spot, torn. He could barely think; his mind was completely blank. He didn't know how long his hesitation lasted—it could have been three minutes; it could have been three hours—before he finally shook his head, roused himself, and returned to the present situation.

_You know why you need to do this_, he thought to himself. He took a step toward the door.

_I _do_ know why I need to do this_, he agreed, _but that doesn't mean I have to like it._ He took another step.

_You don't have a choice_. Another step.

_If I do this, I'm throwing everything away_, he argued, taking a step back in the other direction.

_You've gotten away with it so far_, he came back. _No one knows you're here, and no one _will_ know you were here if you just get in, grab the memory card, and get out. Just stick to the plan, and it will be fine_. He stepped toward the door. _Besides, it's no different from when you saved Luke. You got away clean, and you saved your friend's life._

_Yeah, and if I hadn't gotten away clean, I'd _still_ be in prison!_

_But you _did_ get away with it._ He took a couple more steps toward the door.

_What kind of example am I setting for my daughter?_ he demanded angrily, backing up a few paces.

_Your daughter needs to be _alive_ for that to even matter_, he shot back.

_No! I—I can't do this! I can't betray Mr. Byrne like this, not after I told him I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize this chance. Not after he _gave_ me this chance._

He forced himself to walked straight up to the door and argued back at himself, _You aren't betraying him; you're doing exactly what you told him you would do: You said you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your chance to save Cassie, and you _are_ saving Cassie by doing this!_

_I can't do this._

_You did it before._

_I paid a horrible price._

_You don't have a choice._

Suddenly, unbidden, Scott heard a woman's voice speaking softly in his head. The voice sounded familiar, speaking words he had heard months earlier, before he'd gotten this chance, before he'd gotten Cassie back, before the voice on the phone threw him into this predicament. The voice called him back to when he had just gotten out of prison. Scott could almost feel the speaker's hand on his arm; unconsciously, he reached over to touch that spot on his right forearm with his left hand. He suddenly remembered:

_There's always a choice_.

* * *

AN: So what's Scott going to do now? Guess you'll have to wait for tomorrow!


	18. Chapter 17

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. For the record, I love cliffhangers… especially when I know the answer!

This may be one of my favorite chapters of this story.

* * *

Before he could rethink his decision, Scott opened the door and walked into the room.

Ignoring the desk, he turned and walked over to the wall on his right. He found the picture of an anthill and swung it out, revealing the keypad. Scott pulled a handheld slicer out of his pocket, hooked it up to the keypad, and pressed the button. The device quickly cracked the key code, and the light on the keypad turned green as the wall panels started sliding apart into the surrounding wall. Scott allowed himself to admire Dr. Pym's setup for a minute before putting his plan into action.

Scott pulled his ski mask off and used it to try wiping off some of the black face-paint. He dropped the ski mask on the ground and quickly followed it with his sweatshirt and undershirt. He kicked off his sneakers, and finally pulled off his pants. Now he was wearing nothing but his underwear and socks.

He carefully lifted the helmet off the Ant-Man mannequin and set it down on Dr. Pym's desk. When he was sure the helmet wouldn't roll, he turned back to the mannequin and pulled the suit itself off. He pulled the spandex suit on over his legs, pulled it up to cover his upper body, and squeezed his arms into the sleeves. Bending over, he noticed a pair of black boots at the base of the mannequin. He picked them up and walked over to the Doctor's desk chair, where he sat down and put them on.

Satisfied with the rest of the uniform, Scott finally put on the helmet and pressed the "on" button.

It was like no other sensation he had ever felt. He could hear a humming noise in his ears for a moment, which slowly resolved into snatches of thoughts and basic emotions which seemed to appear directly in his mind. In a minute, those thoughts and emotions faded into the background. A light inside the helmet lit up red and flashed in the shape of a hexagon with a "P" in the middle. Scott was confused until he felt the row of metal canisters along his belt.

He stood up from the desk and walked back over to the alcove. He went straight to the wall of drawers to stock up his utility belt. He pulled a pair of guns out of the ".357 Sig." drawer, along with several loaded magazines, and dropped them into one of the compartments on his utility belt. Next, he grabbed a few lengths of rope, several lock picks, a couple first aid kits, and a few other items, and put all of them into compartments on his belt. He considered for a few minutes while standing in front of the drawer wall. Eventually he opted for an M-16 with a couple magazines and a rocket launcher.

Scott was about to leave when he noticed the warning indicator in his helmet again. He removed all the canisters from his belt and set them aside. Next he unscrewed the same number of canisters from their places on the wall and attached them to his belt. After a moment, the red warning light disappeared. Noticing a plastic bucket a little further into the alcove, Scott glanced in and saw a pile of canisters. Guessing that those were all of Dr. Pym's empties, he dropped all of the canisters he'd removed from his belt into the same bucket.

Scott went to close the alcove and leave, but realized that his clothing was still sitting on the floor. Curiously, he put his sweatshirt on the counter beneath the microscope contraption and examined the controls. Satisfied, he twisted the dial and pressed a green button. The sweatshirt shrank instantly, and Scott put it in his utility belt. The rest of his clothing followed in short order, along with his multi-tool and slicer. Finally, he set his tablet on the counter, pressed the button, and dropped his now-tiny tablet into the same compartment on his utility belt with the rest of his clothing.

Guiltily, Scott realized there was one more thing he had to do before leaving. He grabbed a pad of Post-It notes off Dr. Pym's desk along with a pen, scribbled a hasty note on it, and stuck his note to the Ant-Man mannequin's face before replacing the pad and pen on the desk. Having taken care of that final duty, he located and pressed the correct button to shut the alcove. By the time it had shut completely, Scott had already swung the picture back into place hiding the keypad and cracked Dr. Pym's window an inch.

At first, Scott just stood in the middle of Dr. Pym's darkened office, unsure how to alter his size so he could leave through the window. He felt around the outside of his helmet, which was entirely textured, without any controls. Next he tested the suit's gloves and wrist, but didn't find anything.

"Helmet: shrink?" he tried. Nothing happened.

Finally, Scott reached down and ran his hands along the utility belt at his waist, where his right hand eventually found a dial at his hip. Scott ran the fingers of his right hand around the dial and felt ridges along the sides and a raised arrow pointed directly up. On top of that dial he felt a slightly smaller disk with similar ridges and a raised line pointed directly up in line with the arrow. As an experiment, he turned the main dial one click clockwise, and was startled when the room around him got smaller and he felt his body grow a foot taller. His head hit the ceiling, and he hunched over. He turned the dial back one click counterclockwise, and felt his body return to its normal size. Satisfied with that experiment, Scott twisted the dial about twenty clicks counterclockwise.

It happened in under a second. One minute, Scott was looking over the desk out the window of Dr. Pym's office; the next, he could count the number of molecules in a single thread of the thick red carpet on Dr. Pym's floor. He nearly shouted in surprise when what he could only guess was a water molecule slammed into him and knocked him backward. In a panic, before he could be attacked by any more rogue molecules, Scott reached down and twisted the dial back in the opposite direction, about halfway back to "0."

In under a second, Scott had grown back to a couple millimeters tall. He breathed a sigh of relief. Next, for the first time, he started trying to concentrate on the insect thoughts that seemed to be swirling around his mind. He allowed his mind to listen to some of the thoughts: Hunger, fear, danger, pain. He tried to force himself to focus on a single pocket of thought and isolate it from the mess around him. The other thoughts and emotions seemed to disappear into the background. Satisfied, Scott thought one word: _Come_.

A moment later, a cockroach appeared from a crack in the wall and scurried toward him, stopping an inch away. As soon as he'd seen the cockroach, however, Scott's concentration had broken. Without Scott controlling it, the cockroach charged at him, hissing and clicking its antennae angrily.

Scott let out an involuntary scream and dove to the side just before the cockroach would have barreled into him. The cockroach spun around surprisingly quickly to charge at him again. Scott leapt to the side again, reaching into a compartment on his belt as he did so. He pulled out a handgun, which was exactly the right size for him and fit in his palm nearly as well as his service weapon. He grabbed a magazine from the same compartment, slammed it home in the gun's grip, thumbed the safety off, pulled back the action, and let off a shot pointblank into the cockroach's head. Without waiting, he fired two more at the cockroach, which finally stopped in its tracks and fell flat. Scott moved several steps away and watched it warily, waiting for it to move. Not getting a response, he fired another bullet into its body to make sure it was dead before he ejected the magazine from his gun and emptied the bullet in the chamber, which he immediately replaced in the magazine. He put both back into their compartment on his belt, and started concentrating on the thought clusters again.

_Idiot_, he finally realized, nearly slapping himself in the forehead. _You don't need to actually _kill_ the bugs if you can _control_ them._

Scott summoned another thought cluster, which turned out to be a hornet. Scott carefully ordered the hornet to land in front of him and stand still. When he felt that he had adequate control over the hornet, he put his boot on its elbow and climbed up onto its back. He adjusted his seat on the hornet's back and reached forward to find a handhold in the fuzz on its back. Squeezing its midsection tightly with his knees, he nodded and sent the hornet a thought-command to fly.

It was the most exhilarating sensation Scott had ever experienced. He felt the hornet tense every muscle in its body and then push off with a massive force directly upward. For an instant his body felt nearly twice its normal weight due to the G-forces pushing him up against gravity, before he had a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the hornet stopped its vertical ascent. He felt the wind rushing around him through the thin spandex of the suit. He pumped his fist in the air and nearly let out a shout of excitement—

—which promptly turned into a scream of panic when he lost his grip on the hornet and fell off its back. The wind whipped around him for a moment as he fell the six inches back to the ground. He landed on his back and felt the wind knocked out of his lungs. He lay there, stunned, for a minute before he finally managed to take another breath. Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking a few more breaths to steady himself.

He looked up and was startled when he saw the hornet hovering a couple inches above his head, looking down at him with what he interpreted as an amused look on its face.

"What?" Scott demanded, glaring back at the hornet. "Oh, come on. It's not like you made it easy on me."

The hornet simply stared back at him without making a sound. Scott shrugged and said, "Well, get back down here and let's try it again."

The hornet landed in front of Scott and stood absolutely still. Scott started to climb up on its back when he thought better of it and reached into one of the compartments on his utility belt. He pulled out two lengths of rope and a blanket and walked over to the hornet's head. He carefully tied a loop in the middle of the rope and slipped it over the hornet's pincers. He tied another couple loops in the rope and fastened it firmly to the hornet's head, leaving reins draped over the hornet's back. Satisfied, he moved down to the hornet's midsection, draped the blanket over it, and fastened it on snugly with the other length of rope. On further reflection, he twisted a loop into the rope on either side of the hornet's body.

When he was finally ready, Scott climbed on the hornet's back, shifted around until he was comfortable, slipped his boots into the makeshift stirrups he had made, and picked up the reins. Taking a deep breath, he told the hornet, "Okay, let's try this again: Fly!"

Again the hornet launched upward into the air, pressing Scott down into his makeshift saddle. He nearly lost his seat again when the hornet switched direction and shot forward, but barely managed to maintain his grip on the reins. Scott nearly shouted as the wall loomed closer, but the hornet veered sharply to the right and climbed a few feet higher into the air. Looking around, Scott noticed that his view of the office furniture was distorted by his size and perspective. He urged the hornet a little higher and used the reins to direct it in a wide circle around the room. The hornet flew up to the ceiling and then spun into a nosedive toward the floor, finally coming to hover two inches from the floor. Finally convinced that he could keep his seat on the hornet's back, Scott commanded it to fly back up and then out through the open window.

* * *

AN: My wife missed this when she read it, so in case it isn't clear, there's a huge chunk missing between the end of the last chapter and beginning of this one. Specifically, the fact that Scott's nowhere near the lab with the memory card in it. That lab was pretty deep inside the Stark Industries facility; Pym's lab is fairly close to the main entrance.


	19. Chapter 18

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, jakefan, and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. I had a lot of fun imagining how Scott would learn to use the suit's various abilities.

What I meant by a chunk missing is that Scott had to walk from end of the facility to the other (the lab from which he was supposed to steal is not the same thing as Pym's office); I left that part out to keep the suspense going a little longer.

* * *

Scott parked his car in a shopping center parking lot half a mile from his apartment and just sat there for a minute thinking. He looked around the parking lot and saw a few other cars arriving and parking near the back of the lot. _Employees on their way to work_, he thought. The first rays of the sunrise were just starting to show above the rooftops and glint off the windows of the shopping center in front of him.

Scott reached over and took his cell phone out of the glove compartment. He pressed the correct speed dial and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" a female voice yawned a minute later.

"Liz? It's Scott," he replied.

"Scott? It's 5:30 in the morning," Liz said, stifling another yawn. "I thought we agreed on no phone calls before 6. What's so important it couldn't wait another hour or so?"

Scott thought for a moment. He didn't want to tell her exactly what was going on, but he needed her help.

"Hello?" she said again.

"Something came up at work," Scott finally said. "It's a major secret project that I need to do myself. I won't be home for a few days, so you'll need to watch Cassie full-time until it's done, Liz."

"That's fine," Liz answered, slightly more awake.

"Let me know if her condition changes at all, ok?"

"I will. Do you want me to wake her up so you can tell her yourself?" Liz asked.

"I—no. She needs her sleep. Just—tell her that I love her and I'll see her soon."

"Okay. Good luck on your project!" Liz said cheerily.

"Thanks." Scott ended the call, closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath. Opening his eyes again he turned to look down at his passenger seat and said, "Well, Harry, what's our first step?"

The hornet simply turned its head to look back up at him.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Scott had his tablet (restored to normal size) set up in the shopping center's Starbucks. He had put on a change of clothing over the Ant-Man suit and hidden the helmet in his backpack. His hornet was waiting patiently in the awning just outside the Starbucks.

Scott logged onto the Starbucks' Wi-Fi and ran a search of the name "Erica Sondheim." After reading a newspaper article about her disappearance, he sat back in the chair and leaned his head back into his folded hands. _I need to find where they're keeping her_, he decided. _And to do that, I need to figure out who it is_.

He opened a word processing file on the tablet and started typing in the information he knew about the abductors. It was a short list.

_I know that they know about me and Cassie, and that they also know that Liz's father works for Stark Industries_, he typed. _They know who Dr. Sondheim is and what she does, and that she's the only one who can cure Cassie. How could they know that? How could they know _any_ of it?_

_Some of that information just comes from the internet_, Scott realized. _But no one outside a select few knows about the shooting last month, or that I was involved in it._ He looked down at his hands and then back out the window into the parking lot. A utilities worker was on a ladder working on a transformer across the street. "Bugs!" he muttered to himself in realization. He grabbed his latte and tablet and hurried out the door toward the car. As soon as he reached the car he sat down inside, pulled out the helmet, fastened it on his head, and twisted the dial on his suit to shrink down, leaving his clothing behind lying on the car seat. As an afterthought, he shrank the tablet and stowed it back in one of his utility belt compartments. He quickly located the thought cluster which he had come to recognize as "Harry the Hornet" and commanded him to fly back to the car. Scott climbed up to where he had left the window slightly cracked, took a deep breath, and leapt when Harry was close.

His timing for the jump was slightly off—instead of landing on his makeshift saddle, he found himself hanging onto Harry's stinger with one gloved hand for dear life. He quickly pulled himself up onto the hornet's back and slid down to the saddle. As soon as he was securely in place he directed Harry to fly toward his apartment. When they reached the street, he saw a pickup truck heading toward the apartment complex and ordered the hornet to land in its bed. A few minutes later they took off again and turned left to fly into the apartment complex.

* * *

Scott could hear Cassie singing from outside her bedroom window. The sound made him want to smile and laugh and cry at the same time. He recognized her favorite song, the one she sang almost every minute of every day. Last time he'd heard her sing that song, he'd wanted to find a pair of earplugs; this time, he wanted nothing more than to go in and listen to her sing. But if he did that, he knew, he would never be able to leave.

The hornet was resting on the ledge just outside Cassie's bedroom window while Scott carefully climbed from there up to where the phone lines entered their apartment. At the moment, he was silently thankful to Dr. Pym for leaving a set of climbing gear in a compartment on the utility belt the last time he'd worn the suit.

The singing cut off inside the apartment suddenly when Scott heard the sound of a door opening. Footsteps. Voices. He strained his ears to hear what they were saying.

"Miss Lizzy, why are you picking me up from school today?" Cassie was asking, confusion evident in her tone.

"Your daddy called and said that he's working on a big project. But he loves you and misses you and can't wait to finish it and come home to see you," Liz was telling her.

_You have no idea how true that is_, Scott thought sadly. He finally reached the correct cable, just as the voices left Cassie's room. A few minutes later, the apartment door opened and closed again.

Scott examined the spot where the cable disappeared into the house, but didn't see anything unusual. He decided to follow the cable further into the house, and squeezed his way into the house through the same hole by which the cable entered. He crawled through the insulation deeper into the house until the cable split in opposite directions. He decided to follow the one on the left, which he guessed would run into the living room.

A few minutes later he found himself at the jack where the cable met the wall. Scott pushed the covering to the side slightly to look out into the room. He had guessed correctly; it was indeed the living room. Scott turned to look at the inside of the jack. He felt around where the screws entered the wall and noticed traces of wood shavings and metal. "Someone's tampered with this recently," he muttered, "and it definitely wasn't me."

He looked around the edges of the plug until he found what he was looking for. There was a green circuit board device about his size pushed into the insulation to the right of the plug. Scott saw a pair of leads coming out of it, one of which was connected to the phone cable and the other of which connected to the electrical cable. A small antenna protruded from the top of the device. Scott put his hands on it and turned it around, careful not to loosen any of the wires. Seeing a serial number, Scott pulled out his tablet and searched for the serial number online.

"This model only has a wireless range of about 100 meters?" he noted. "So that means there has to be something within 100 meters to pick up the signal."

Scott used his tablet to wirelessly tunnel into the bug's system. He found the programming to be extremely basic, though he was able to follow the path back to the receiver. As soon as he located the computer which was receiving the data from the bug, he started typing furiously to identify the computer and determine its location. When he was certain of the location, he slipped out of the phone jack through the opening he had made and reset the jack. He walked across the living room to the front door and crawled out through the space between the door and the base of the doorway.

As Scott left his apartment, he saw one of his neighbors walk past. She was looking at the floor at just the wrong time, and Scott felt his stomach drop when he realized that she had seen him. She screamed and lifted up her foot to try to step on him. Scott dove out of the way just as the shoe landed where he had been standing, rolled to his left, and noticed a hole in the wall a couple feet away. He ran toward the hole, dodging the woman's shoes as he went, and dove inside. Breathing heavily, he hid further inside the hole, ignoring the staring eyes of curious termites, until he heard the massive pounding of the woman's receding footsteps. When he thought the coast was clear, he looked out. The hallway was empty.

Scott left his hiding place and walked down the hallway past five apartment doors, careful to stay close to the wall in case anyone else came down the hallway. When he was opposite the door he was looking for, he looked in either direction and raced across the hallway. As soon as he reached the door, he dove through the gap between the door and the base.

Inside the apartment, he glanced around to take in the surroundings. The apartment looked to be the same size as his own, and the floor plan appeared to be the mirror opposite. However, this apartment was almost completely unfurnished. Instead of a kitchen table with nice chairs, this apartment had a card table and two folding chairs. There was no sofa; there were only a couple sleeping bags pushed against the opposite wall. Pizza boxes and takeout menus were strewn around the floor. Scott could hear the thoughts of a few scavenger ants sniffing around in the pizza boxes and looking for crumbs to bring back to their colony. Other than those ants and a couple mosquitoes, however, the apartment seemed to be completely empty.

Scott saw an artificial glow coming from the card table on the other side of the room. He cautiously made his way over to the table and climbed up one of the legs to the top. When he was nearly at the end of his endurance, he finally pulled himself up onto the tabletop and looked around. The first thing he saw was a laptop computer sitting open in front of him. It was turned on, and Scott saw what looked like surveillance camera feeds showing the inside of his apartment.

His blood started to boil when he realized that whoever these people were, they had been watching him, Cassie, and Liz on these cameras. He now knew how they had known so much about him. How much of their lives that these people seen? Did they just enjoy the voyeurism of it? Seeing there wasn't a camera in the bathroom did little to abate his anger. He nearly pulled out his rocket launcher and blew the computer to pieces in anger.

However, he thought better of that, and instead took out his tablet and a USB cord. He plugged one end of the cord into his tablet went to plug the other end into the computer, and stopped.

"So how does this work?" Scott wondered aloud, sizing up the connector and the computer. He started rummaging around in his utility belt, and finally pulled a pair of leads out of one compartment near the small of his back. Carefully he attached the leads to the computer side of the connector, detached it from his tablet, and pressed a button he found inside the compartment. The entire connector cord expanded back to normal size.

Scott groaned. "Now it can go in the computer, but not in the tablet." He reached back into the same compartment and found another pair of leads. He pulled them out, attached them to the tablet side of the connector, twisted a dial he found inside the compartment, and pressed both buttons at the same time. As he had hoped, the computer side of the cable stayed the same size and the tablet side shrank back to his size. The tablet connector slid in easily, but Scott suddenly realized that the other connector was twice his size.

Scott put both hands under the connector, took a deep breath, and heaved with all his might to try to lift the connector. Surprisingly, it flew up over his head in an instant and made him lose his balance. He toppled backward onto his butt and the connector landed on top of him. He tossed it off angrily and pushed himself back to his feet. He carefully picked up the connector again, noticing that felt no heavier now than it did when he was his normal size. _It may not be heavy_, he thought with a wry chuckle, _but it sure is cumbersome._

Scott carefully maneuvered the connector into a USB port on the computer and pressed the button on his tablet to clone the computer's hard drive.


	20. Chapter 19

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, jakefan, and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

As soon as the hard drive had finished cloning, Scott went to detach the connector. However, he thought better of it and instead started typing into the tablet. He quickly accessed the saved surveillance data and spliced together 24 hours of video data in which no one was visible in the apartment. When he was finished, he synced it up with the current time and set it to play on a continuous loop. He also embedded a virus in the surveillance program which would activate if someone tried to tamper with his looped feed. At the same time, he loaded a worm into the computer which he could activate remotely. Finally, Scott walked around to the back of the laptop and located the receiver for the phone tap in the apartment. He peeled it open, reversed two of the wires, and attached a tiny remotely activated explosive device to it.

Looking for more mayhem he could cause, Scott reached down and searched around in a few of his utility belt compartments. At last his hand felt a tiny square. He pulled the bug out and started looking for somewhere to plant it. Finally, he decided to pull up the corner of the laptop cover and plant it directly on the motherboard. Scott attached the wires appropriately and programmed the bug to send the data to his tablet via the internet every 24 hours. Satisfied, Scott detached the connector from the computer and started to reset the size to normal. However, he quickly realized how useful such a cable could be, and simply shrunk the entire thing as is to fit into his utility belt.

No sooner had Scott finished than he heard the sound of a key being put in a lock and turned. He took a running leap off the table just as the door opened and a man walked in. Scott landed on his feet and spun into a roll. As soon as his feet were back under him, he pushed himself up and ran to the wall. Looking around desperately for a hiding place, he noticed a gap in the molding and crawled into the wall. As soon as he was hidden, he turned around to look out through the crack and check whether he had been noticed.

It did not appear that the man had noticed him. He had walked across to the card table, sat down at the chair in front of the computer, and started typing. From his vantage point, Scott could see that he was wearing dark blue pants and a light blue shirt. The man took the baseball cap off his head and set it down on the edge of the table to his left. Scott could make out a logo that looked like a mop and broom crossed in the shape of an X. He recognized it as the apartment maintenance company's logo.

Scott carefully made his way through the space behind the molding toward the outside wall of the apartment, the direction toward the nearest electrical outlet. When he reached the outlet, Scott pulled a different type of electronic listening device out of his utility belt along with his multi-tool. Careful not to electrocute himself, he cut through the insulation on the wires, attached the wires from his bug to the correct electrical wires, and set the bug up with the microphone facing out of the outlet. Scott also attached a wireless router to the bug and programmed it to send information to his tablet over the internet. When the bug was in place, Scott crawled back to the crack in the molding by which he had gotten behind the wall.

When he reached that crack, Scott wriggled out and looked up to check on the man by the computer. The man still had his back turned to where Scott was and did not seem to be paying any attention to him. Scott ran out from the wall and dove into the pile of garbage in the middle of the floor. His senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of stale pizza when he landed on a half-eaten slice of pizza. He pushed himself up with his hands, and they sunk up to his elbows into the pizza sauce and cheese. Scott groaned when a couple ants walked past him and started chewing on the pizza around him. Scott grabbed one ant's leg as it walked past, and mentally commanded it to pull him out of the pizza. When he finally felt the thin carpet under his chest, he let go of the ant and pushed himself to his feet. He was covered with old cheese. He looked around until he found an old used napkin. He walked over and started wiping the cheese off with a relatively clear corner of the napkin. Once he was satisfied, he quietly walked over to the edge of the garbage pile to look back out at the man at the table.

No sooner had he taken his place than he heard the apartment door open again and another man walked in. When Scott peeked out from his hiding spot, he saw that the newcomer was wearing a brown shirt with a company logo and khakis, with a brown hat pulled down over his eyes to conceal his face. He held a clipboard in his left hand.

"Any new developments, Bob?" the first man asked as soon as the door was shut.

Bob pulled his hat off and tossed it over onto the sleeping bags, followed by his over-shirt. "No new orders from the boss, if that's what you're asking," he reported, dropping the clipboard on the table and walking over to the small kitchen. Scott heard the refrigerator door open and close, followed by the sound of a can opening.

"Damn, I was hoping it'd be over by now."

"You saw the video, Josh," Bob told him, walking back into the room and taking a gulp from his beer. "The subject left last night with a duffel. Out of the parking lot he turned toward Stark Industries. This morning he called and told the girl he wasn't going to be home for a few days. He hasn't returned since. He must've done the deed last night. Now it's time for Phase 2."

Josh nodded his agreement before he pulled out a cell phone and pressed a speed dial before holding it to his ear. A few minutes later, he said, "Mr. Lang, we will assume that you've made your decision and you now have the card in your possession. To secure the doctor's safe return, place the card in a newspaper and leave it on the doormat just outside your apartment. When we verify the card, the doctor will be released." He closed the phone, put it on the table, and said, "Now, I guess we just have to sit back and wait for him to come back."

Scott pulled a Bluetooth receiver out of his utility belt and connected it to his tablet. He reached out from under the pile of garbage, pointed the receiver at Josh's phone, and pressed a button on the tablet. In under a minute he had downloaded everything from the phone onto his tablet. Satisfied with his work, Scott edged his way around several half-eaten pieces of pizza, a couple discarded Chinese takeout boxes, and some beer bottles to the other side of the pile of garbage to make his escape.

When Scott was as close to the balcony door as he could get under the garbage cover, he chanced a glance back at the men by the table. Josh was still working on his computer, but Bob seemed to be staring absentmindedly out the glass sliding balcony door. Unfortunately, Scott could see that his gaze was going out the window directly above the pizza box under which Scott was hiding.

_Damn it_, he thought, _there's no way to get out without being seen_. He looked around, trying to find an alternative exit. _I need a distraction_, he realized. Scott suddenly noticed the white noise of insect thoughts which had been buzzing at the back of his mind all day. He felt the presence of about a dozen different insects just within garbage pile, along with more flying around the room and hiding in the walls. Without hesitating, he mentally commanded every insect he could sense, "Attack."

"Hey!" Josh shouted in surprise, slapping his arm. "A mosquito just bit me."

At the same time, Bob screamed when he was stung by a bee. "Wait, what's going on!?" he yelled, pointing at the ground. A dozen ants had just crawled out of the pile of pizza boxes in a straight line toward the two men.

"What the hell!" Josh shouted, jumping up from the chair, knocking the table over as he did so. The computer clattered to the ground. The two men started backing away from the crowd of insects and trying to stomp on them when they got close. One of the men pointed at the balcony door with a shaking finger. On the other side of the glass was what looked like an entire nest of wasps, buzzing angrily and beating their wings against the glass. The two men immediately turned on their heels and fled into one of the bedrooms and slammed the door.

When the first mosquito was killed, Scott cringed as the mosquito's thoughts changed from gnawing hunger to excruciating pain and then were abruptly extinguished. However, as soon as he saw the men leave the living room, he made a break for the balcony door. He put his hands on the sliding door and started pushing it to the side. He felt his specially-textured gloves grip onto the smooth metal of the door. The door opened a crack, and Scott climbed out. As he did so, he heard the wasps jostling each other above his head in their frenzy to get into the apartment and carry out Scott's order. By the time Scott had left the apartment and pushed the door shut, the entire wasp nest had flown into the apartment. Scott smirked when he heard a pair of screams signifying that the two criminals had discovered that fact as well. Ignoring the battle brewing inside the apartment, Scott concentrated until he found the thought cluster he recognized as Harry on the other side of the apartment complex. He commanded Harry to fly over the apartment building and pick him up. A couple minutes later, the hornet flew directly over his head before circling around below the balcony. Scott jumped off the balcony onto its back. This time he timed the jump perfectly and landed directly on the saddle.

* * *

Scott sat on the roof ledge above his apartment with his legs dangling over the edge while he sifted through the data he'd gathered from the men in the apartment. The hornet was flying in circles a foot above his head, alert for any signs of danger.

It was over an hour before Scott finally found what he was looking for. He was checking through the data he'd pulled off the cell phone when he found a series of calls to and from the same number. Scott hacked into the cell phone company's system and uploaded a virus to track the phone's location and send it to him the next time it was used. Returning to the cloned computer hard drive, he found a rental agreement for a semi truck taken out by one of the men in the apartment under an alias. By checking police records Scott located the truck in question in Kansas City, Missouri.

"Well, Harry," he observed, looking up at the hornet, "it's not much, but at least it's a start."

Harry simply looked back down at him and tilted his head.


	21. Chapter 20

AN: Thanks to Qweb and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

Scott and Harry flew out of the apartment complex and landed at the bus stop just outside the entrance to decide on the next move. While waiting, Scott checked plane departures on his tablet, found a nonstop flight from Los Angeles to Kansas City, and memorized the departure information.

They had only been waiting a few minutes when a commercial bus pulled up and Scott saw from the display panel that its route ended at the airport. He urged Harry to fly inside the bus after all the passengers had entered, just as the door was closing. Scott held on tightly as Harry carefully walked up the side of the bus to sit on the ledge above the door while the bus drove to the airport. Scott ordered him to watch in case someone noticed them.

* * *

It was the stop before the airport when it happened. Scott was looking down at his tablet and going through the information he had found, and didn't notice when the woman glanced up at the ledge where he was sitting before stepping off the bus. He heard Harry's warning just as the woman screamed. Scott looked up from the tablet in time to see the woman pointing up at him with a shaking finger. He sensed more than he saw the bus driver reaching for the can of bug spray next to his seat.

Scott quickly shoved his tablet back in the utility belt compartment while ordering Harry to take flight. Harry shot upward just before the spot where he'd been sitting got doused with bug spray. Some of the spray splashed over and hit Scott in the face. He clamped his mouth shut just in time to avoid a mouthful of poison, though a few drops splashed up into his nose.

He nearly gagged as the bug spray burned the inside of his nose. Before he could do anything but force air out his nostrils and wipe off his mouth with a hand, he had to dive away to avoid another spray of poison. Without thinking, he jumped off the ledge.

Scott fell through the air for what felt like an eternity. He spread his arms and legs to increase resistance and try to slow his rate of descent. A couple feet from the ground Scott pulled his arms in to his body and shifted his body around so he was facing out the door with his feet beneath his body. He landed on the bottom step feet first, bent his knees with the impact, and pushed himself off again out the door. Scott flew through the air over the sidewalk and landed in the grass. Harry landed next to him.

Scott pushed himself to his feet and looked around desperately for water. Fortunately, his eye caught on a glint of water off a small puddle of water a few feet away. Scott ran over to the puddle, breathed deeply through his mouth, and stuck his head in the puddle. He wiped his face underwater with his hands and let the air out through his nose to flush out the poison. When he was satisfied, he slowly lifted his head out of the water and shook his head to shake the water off his face. He looked over to his right to find Harry staring at him with what Scott interpreted as a confused look on his face.

"You know, getting doused with poison isn't exactly a walk in the park," Scott told the hornet. "You're welcome, by the way. I could've just left you where you were to get killed."

The hornet simply looked back at him with the same expression.

Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly while looking around at his surroundings. He recognized a couple of the buildings nearby as airport hotels. Once his heartbeat had slowed down again, Scott grabbed hold of Harry's reins and pulled himself up into the saddle. He shook his head to clear some of his lightheadedness and commanded Harry to get up and hover 10 feet in the air. Scott oriented himself with the buildings and determined the correct direction to reach the airport. He checked his watch: The flight he was planning to take left in just under an hour. He didn't have much time to spare.

* * *

About thirty minutes later, Scott and Harry arrived at the airport. Scott directed the hornet to fly over the terminal to the departure gate which Scott had memorized. When they found it, they flew down among the baggage carts, where Scott checked the luggage tags and verified that it was the correct plane. Satisfied, he ordered the hornet to fly up into the airplane's passenger cabin. They landed across the aisle from the main door in the deserted steward area.

"You know, Harry, I'd like to bring you with me, but after the bus, I'd rather not risk you drawing attention to us again and getting us killed," Scott said, climbing down from the saddle, walking up to the hornet's head, and patting it on the forehead. He untied the bridle and reins rig and slid it off the hornet's head. Next he untied the makeshift saddle rig. After shrinking the bridle and saddle down further, he stowed them in one of the compartments on his utility belt. "Well, go on," he told the hornet, gesturing toward the open airplane door, "get out of here."

Harry took one look at Scott before taking flight. Scott directed him to fly straight out of the airplane into the open air and then as far from the terminal as he could. About fifty yards away, the hornet passed out of range of Scott's helmet, and the thought-cluster disappeared.

"You know," Scott said to himself with a short laugh, "I really can't get so attached to a hornet. A therapist would have a _field day_ with that!"

* * *

Once the plane was airborne, Scott walked to the back of the plane, waited until the bathroom was unoccupied, and stepped inside. Inside, he checked to make sure no one could see him and pushed the door as far shut as he could before he twisted the dial on his utility belt to return to normal size. The moment he stopped growing, he shut the door the rest of the way and locked it. He pulled a red-and-black t-shirt and blue jeans out of a compartment on his utility belt, expanded them back to normal size, and put them on. He also pulled out his backpack and expanded it and his tablet back to normal size. Once the tablet and helmet were safely tucked away in the backpack, he unlocked the door and stepped out. He quickly found an empty seat and sat down in it, sliding the backpack under the seat in front of him as he did so.

Four hours later, the plane landed in Kansas City, where Scott was careful to blend into the crowd of passengers leaving the plane. He quickly made his way past the baggage claim and out the exit. As soon as he was on the street, he caught a bus, dropping a few coins in the till as he stepped up the stairs.

Scott rode the bus into town, where he found a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. He ordered a coffee and sat down in a corner to use the internet. He pulled his tablet out of his backpack, logged on to the internet, and checked on the bugs he had planted in the surveillance apartment. The first thing he found was a conversation that had taken place shortly after he left.

* * *

"_What the hell just happened?_" a voice demanded. Scott recognized it as the man named Josh.

"_I—I don't know_," Bob replied. "_One minute everything's normal; the next we're getting attacked by psycho-bugs_."

"_Think we ought to call it in?_"

"_And say what, exactly?_" Bob demanded. "_'Sorry, boss. I got bit by a mosquito. I'm gonna have to call in sick today'?_" A slapping sound. "_He'd think it was a joke!_"

"_I got stung by an entire nest of bees!_" Josh shouted angrily. Scott heard a bang which he guessed came from a hand slamming onto a table.

"_I was there; I know_," Bob retorted. There was a moment of silence. "_Fine. Call him. But don't tell him what happened; just tell him that we're waiting for the subject to make the drop._"

At this point Scott synced the recording with the phone conversation which he had recorded using a virus he had loaded onto Josh's phone.

He heard Josh say, "_Boss, we think the subject has the card; we're just waiting for him to make the drop._"

"_Good_," another voice responded, "_stand by and wait for orders._" The line clicked dead.

"_So now we wait_," Josh said.

"_No, now we get all these bugs out of here_."

* * *

Scott quickly traced the number they had called and uploaded a virus to the company computer to track the phone and notify him when the phone was used and its location. Next he turned to locating the semi truck.

Scott hacked into the rental company records and found the location where the truck he was after had been checked in. Unfortunately, he couldn't find any more information on the truck online, so he packed up his tablet and left the coffee shop. Within the hour he reached the rental store where the truck had been checked in. Before entering, he stopped to think about what he was going to do. Realizing that he couldn't be found with the Ant-Man helmet on his person if this went wrong, Scott knelt down and slid his backpack into the bushes. When he was satisfied that no one could see the backpack without looking for it, he straightened back up. He stepped in the door and asked to see the manager. An older white man in a white shirt and dress pants walked up to him and held out his hand.

The manager smiled and said, "Hello, Mister…"

"Smith," Scott supplied.

"Mr.… Smith," the manager repeated skeptically. "What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?"

Scott answered, "Someone from my company, Mr. Allen, recently rented a semi from your company to transport some equipment out here from our LA office. Unfortunately, Al lost the receipt," he shook his head and gave a rueful laugh. "Of course, he's always been a bit… scatterbrained. Anyways, I need to check the receipt to make sure Al wrote down the right information. For taxes," he added quickly. "Any chance you can help me out?"

"Not a problem, Mr. Smith," the manager replied. "I'll just need some information so I can find the receipt."

"I have the rental number right here," Scott answered, pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it over.

The manager looked at the number once, nodded, and said, "I'll be right back," before disappearing into his office.

A few minutes later the man returned with a yellow slip of paper. He handed it over and said, "I need to keep this for our records, so you can only look at it here."

Scott nodded and agreed, "Not a problem." He quickly wrote down the information he needed. The first thing he noticed was the mileage: the truck had driven nearly a thousand extra miles on this trip. _So they could have taken the doctor anywhere, from California to the Mississippi River. Great_, he thought with a groan.

Scott almost didn't notice the two well-dressed men in black suits who walked into the rental office a couple minutes after the manager had brought the receipt out for him to look at. However, out of the corner of his eye he saw one reaching into his pants pocket, revealing a handgun in a shoulder holster. Scott was careful not to let on what he had seen, hoping that the men were not there for him. That hope was dashed when they walked directly over to him.

"Mr. Smith," the one on the left asked, pulling his jacket back to reveal his gun.

"Can I help you?" Scott asked warily. He slowly reached down to put his right hand in his jeans pocket.

"Come with us," the one on the right ordered, reaching under his jacket for his gun.

Scott quickly found the dial on his utility belt with the hand in his pocket and gave it a sharp twist.


	22. Chapter 21

AN: Thanks to Qweb and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. Remember, bug spray is primarily a poison, and it can make humans sick. Even though the Pym Particles allow one to retain one's normal strength at a smaller size, I would imagine that a face full of poison while ant-sized would be about the same as a face full of poison at any other size: not fun.

* * *

Scott shrank out of his clothes a moment after twisting the dial on his utility belt. The last thing he saw before being engulfed in his now-too-big clothing was the identical looks of shock and terror on the two gunmen's faces as he disappeared.

The moment he finished shrinking, Scott pushed his way out of the shirt through the right sleeve. As soon as he was free, he looked up at the two gunmen. One had pulled his gun and was waving it around wildly, looking around the room at his eye level. The other had also pulled his gun, but he was still staring down at Scott's clothes.

"Hey, I think I see something!" the second man called, pointing down at Scott's shirt. "The shirt just moved!"

Scott threw himself to the ground flat and army-crawled back under the shirt sleeve to try to avoid attracting any more attention to himself. Across the room he saw a couple flies chewing on some crumbs under a desk. A mosquito was on the other side of the room sucking blood from a woman's shoulder. With a wicked grin, Scott quickly formed a plan. He started concentrating to identify the thought-clusters of all the insects in the store to use them for a distraction. It was only then that he remembered he had left the helmet safe in his backpack in the bushes outside. This time he was on his own.

Scott pushed himself up to his feet and ran out of his cover under the shirt toward the closest gunman. He covered about half the distance before the man noticed what he was doing and called a warning to his companion. Both men spun to point their guns in his direction.

Before either of the gunmen could fire, Scott reached down and twisted the dial slightly with his right hand, punching up with his left as he did so. He grew to about two feet tall in an instant. As he did, his left fist connected with the man on the right directly in the crotch. The man screamed and dropped his gun, falling to his knees as he did so. Before his knees even hit the ground, Scott kicked out to the side with his left leg and caught the other gunman in the side of the knee. The knee buckled in the wrong direction and the man collapsed to the ground in a heap, grabbing the knee with both hands and howling in pain. Scott clasped his hands in front of him and jerked sharply to the right, elbowing the first man in the side of the head with his right elbow as he did so. The blow knocked the man to the floor unconscious. His friend soon joined him when Scott kicked him across the face. By this time a few of the people in the store had started looking over to see what had happened. Scott reached into the nearest gunman's jacket pocket and took his phone. Then he reached behind his back, grabbed the pile of clothes he had left there, and ran out the door.

The moment he was out, Scott dove sideways into the bushes, shrinking himself down further as he did so. He landed a couple feet from the backpack, and his clothes fell on top of him in a heap. As soon as he was there, he pushed the clothes out of his way and crawled out from under them. He looked up toward the door in time to see a couple people run out and look around in confusion. When they did not see anything, Scott watched them shrug, turn, and walk back into the store.

When he saw that he was momentarily in the clear, Scott pulled a yellow shirt out of his utility belt along with a baseball hat, expanded them to normal size, and then twisted the dial on his utility belt to grow back to his own normal size. He pulled his jeans and the new shirt on over the Ant-Man suit, and pulled the hat on with the brim dipped low to hide his face. He flipped the gunman's phone open and quickly cloned it into his tablet, simultaneously loading a virus onto it. When he was finished, he pulled the back off, attached a bug to the inside of the phone, and snapped it shut again.

When he was finished, he stepped out of the bushes. He quickly opened the store door and walked over to where the two gunmen were still lying on the floor unconscious, surrounded by a ring of people. Scott blended into the crowd for a moment before he stepped through the crowd to stand next to the unconscious men. He leaned over to put two fingers to the neck of the man whose phone he had stolen and made a show of checking for a pulse. As he did so, he furtively slipped the phone back into the man's pocket. A pair of police officers walked into the building at that moment, and Scott stood back up and stepped back into the crowd. While everyone's attention was directed toward the men on the floor, Scott backed out of the crowd, turned, and walked casually out the door. As soon as he was out, he stepped off the path into the bushes to grab his stuff. He stuffed the old shirt in his backpack along with the tablet, slung the backpack over his shoulder, and walked away from the rental office without looking back, careful not to draw attention to himself.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Scott was set up at a different coffee shop when he received a notification from his tablet that the gunman from the rental store was making a phone call. He pulled out a pair of ear buds and plugged them into the tablet to listen.

* * *

"_Sir, we have a situation_," a voice said. Scott heard a scoff in the background.

The voice in the background said, "_I think we have a little more than a situation! I mean, what the hell just happened in there!?_"

"_What are you talking about?_" the voice on the other end of the phone demanded. "_What is this 'situation'? What happened?_"

"_We got a call from that rental manager about an hour ago. He said that someone had come in asking about the semi we rented. We told him to keep the guy at the store until we could grab him and find out why_," the first voice reported.

"_Is this the part where you explain what this so-called 'situation' is?_" the other voice demanded angrily.

"_When we tried to take the guy, he just… vanished,_" the gunman said hesitantly.

"_He vanished?_"

"_Yeah. One minute he was there and the next… his clothes were just sitting there on the floor, but he wasn't in them._"

Scott's tablet beeped at him at that moment, showing that it had completed the trace on the phone call, complete with location. He pressed the map button to display the location.

On the phone, the boss told the two gunmen, "_So what happened?_"

"_No clue. Just… the guy disappeared, and then someone attacked us and knocked us out._"

"_Did you get a description?_"

The gunman reported, "_White guy, slender build, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I didn't notice much more before he disappeared_."

"_You know what? It doesn't matter_," the leader said. "_Just find the guy and bring him to the warehouse. We'll get to the bottom of this._" The line clicked dead as the leader hung up.

* * *

Scott pulled the ear buds out of his ears and put them back in his backpack before he looked down at the map on his tablet to see where the caller had been. The map showed St. Louis, though the program had not been able to triangulate more precisely than a five-mile stretch along the Mississippi River. Scott checked back on his other bugs, but did not see anything else new, aside from another couple calls by the men in the surveillance apartment, one to a pizza place, and the other to a maid service. Scott chuckled at that one.

Scott packed up his tablet and left the coffee shop a few minutes later. He was only a few blocks from the bus station, so he quickly walked there to find a bus to St. Louis. When he arrived as the bus station, the line for tickets was long but moving quickly.

"When is the next bus to St. Louis?" Scott asked the ticket clerk when he reached the front of the line.

"Twenty minutes," the smiling woman replied after checking on her computer.

"I'd like one ticket, please," Scott said, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a few bills.

"Fifteen dollars plus tax."

Scott wordlessly set a twenty-dollar-bill on the counter and waited anxiously for the woman to count out his change. The woman printed a ticket and slid it through the window to him. Scott grabbed it and walked out of the terminal to find the correct bus.

Scott walked across the loading area, looking around quickly to see where the St. Louis bus was loading. He finally located the "St. Louis" sign on the opposite end. He started walking toward the bus, but stopped short less than ten yards from it. The two gunmen from the rental store were standing next to the bus doors.

Scott quickly turned around and hurried back into the terminal, angling for the bathroom. A glance at his watch showed that he only had fifteen minutes to get on the bus. Inside the bathroom, Scott stepped into one of the stalls and locked it. As soon as the door was locked, he pulled off his jeans, hat, and t-shirt. He reached into his backpack and withdrew his helmet, which he promptly fastened onto his head. He grabbed leads from the utility belt compartment at the small of his back and attached them to his clothes, tablet, and backpack, and pressed the button to shrink them. Once they were small enough, he dropped all of them into compartments on his utility belt before replacing the leads in their compartment. Satisfied, he looked under the stall to check for feet. Seeing none, he unlocked the stall door and twisted the dial on his utility belt to shrink back down to ant-size. He looked down at his watch again: Five minutes.

Scott started searching the thought-clusters he could feel to find a flying insect. Without hesitating, he summoned the first one he could sense. A few seconds later, a mosquito landed in front of him. Without bothering to pull out his makeshift bridle and saddle, Scott climbed up onto the mosquito's back, squeezed tightly with his knees, and ordered the mosquito to take off. The mosquito launched itself off the floor and shot up to hover near the ceiling before flying out the bathroom door. Scott leaned forward over the mosquito's body to reduce wind resistance and urged it to fly faster. They rocketed out the terminal doors and across the loading area toward the bus. The mosquito flew through the bus door just as it was closing. Scott ordered it to land on the ledge above the door, where he jumped off and looked around.

Seeing that the two gunmen were sitting together near the back of the bus, Scott laughed quietly. "Ya know, you've been good to me, so I'd like to give you a reward," he told the mosquito. "See those two men back there," he continued, pointing at the gunmen, "go take as much 'reward' from them as you want!"

The mosquito looked back at Scott before bowing it head and taking off. It flew to the back of the bus, where Scott commanded it to land on one of the gunmen and bite him on the back of the neck. The man reached back to smack the mosquito, but Scott ordered it to take off just in time, and fly over to land on the other man's ear. Scott located another mosquito in the bus and gave it the same command as the first one. Satisfied, he leaned back against the side of the bus with his hands behind his head to enjoy the four-hour show.


	23. Chapter 22

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

The bus arrived in St. Louis around eight in the evening. Scott, who had dozed off shortly after the bus left Kansas City, roused himself and pushed himself up into a sitting position to survey the scene. Looking to his left toward the back of the bus, his eyes fell on the two gunmen, who were still feebly trying to drive away the two mosquitoes, which had by now grown into a small swarm, all of whom were attempting to fulfill Scott's last command before dozing off. Scott grinned wickedly and waved a hand, commanding the mosquitoes to leave the men alone and instead fly in a circle near the roof at the front of the bus.

Scott prepared to jump down onto a mosquito's back, but stopped when he was struck by inspiration. Instead, he watched the two gunmen wait for everyone else to exit the bus before standing up and walking down the aisle toward the door. One man stepped down and out the door, and the other prepared to follow him.

At that moment, Scott commanded all the mosquitoes to attack the man's neck, face, and hands, and jumped down from the ledge. The man was too distracted by the mosquitoes biting him to notice the small weight when Scott landed in the right breast pocket of his jacket.

"What the hell!" the man shouted, smacking at his arms desperately.

As soon as he was in, Scott ordered the mosquitoes to leave the man alone, but to follow them at a safe distance. As they walked, Scott isolated more mosquito-thought-clusters and added them to his swarm.

"I don't know about this, Ralph," Scott heard the other man mutter.

The one in whose pocket Scott was riding, Ralph, muttered back, "Well what else were we supposed to do? We didn't have any information on the guy except the name, 'Mr. Smith,' and if that's not an alias…"

"I know," the other sighed, "but he's not going to be happy to see us without anything to show for it."

"We don't have a choice. We could either stay there and wander around until the cops notice again, or we could come back here and hope for the best," Ralph retorted. "At least we have some new information for him: Someone's interested."

"He's not going to be happy. What are we going to tell him when he asks why we're here with nothing to show for it?"

"Don't worry about it. Just leave the talking to me."

Scott couldn't see anything from where he was except Ralph's chin, so he carefully pulled the knife on his belt out of its sheath and put a small V-shaped cut in the pocket large enough for him to look out but small enough to avoid attracting attention. Looking out through the hole, Scott could see that the men were walking across a deeply-shadowed parking lot to where a black SUV was idling with its headlights off. Looking around as much of the parking lot as he could see, Scott saw lights flickering around them. The tiny hum he could hear in his helmet told Scott that these were lightning bugs. Scott focused on their thought-clusters and ordered them to stop blinking and gather in a cluster near the SUV.

"Um, Dan, what the hell just happened?" Ralph asked a minute later.

"What?" Dan asked, sounding confused. Scott saw the outline of Dan's face turning to look at Ralph, though he couldn't make out any expression in the gloom.

"Either I'm going crazy or all those fireflies just stopped blinking at the same time."

"It's nothing," Dan scoffed, waving a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Ralph agreed, not sounding convinced.

A few minutes later they reached the car, where the side door opened automatically. The two men climbed in and sat down, Dan on the left and Ralph on the right. When he guessed that no one was looking out the side door, Scott commanded all the mosquitoes and fireflies to fly into the SUV and hide silently under the bench seats. Scott heard the sound of the seatbelt unwinding and realized that Ralph was putting on his seatbelt. Just before the chest strap landed on Ralph's jacket pocket, Scott shifted to the side to avoid getting squeezed under it. Looking back out through his slit, Scott could just make out the shapes of men in the driver's seat and passenger's seat, though he couldn't see more in the darkness. The door closed, the headlights came on, and the SUV started moving.

Scott shifted slightly to lean back in his pocket, and felt a hard metallic bulge on the other side of the fabric. With a start he realized he was right next to the man's handgun. Stifling the urge to snicker, he cut a hole in the jacket large enough for him to squeeze through. He carefully slid through and found a handhold on the shoulder-holster. He climbed up onto the gun handle, where he identified the gun as a revolver. He quickly reached into his utility belt and pulled out an explosive charge with one sticky side. Carefully, he pulled up the hammer far enough to slip the explosive in under the hammer, and pushed the explosive under it with his foot. When it was in place, he gently, slowly, let the hammer down to rest on top of the explosive, which stuck to the hammer. He let out a relieved breath when the charge did not detonate. Satisfied with his work, he slid back down the gun to his hole and crawled through it back into the pocket.

At that moment, Scott finally noticed the massive cloud of nearly-identical thought-clusters flying around above the SUV. Concentrating on them, he realized he had not felt those specific patterns before and could not identify the species of insect. With a mental shrug, he ordered them to land on the roof of the SUV. _Probably just butterflies or something_, he thought with a silent chuckle, _but maybe they'll be useful_. Scott started concentrating on identifying more insect thought-clusters and adding them to the collection on the SUV roof. He identified an entire beehive a street over and a block ahead of the SUV, all of which left their hive to join his swarm. He also found groups of hornets, yellow jackets, and wasps, which trailed along until the SUV slowed down enough for them to catch up and land on the SUV. Every so often he would detect a colony of ants or cockroaches, but he rejected those because they would never be able to catch up to the SUV.

However, about thirty minutes into the ride, the SUV stopped at a traffic light next to a vacant lot. Scott recognized the thought-clusters of an enormous anthill a foot from the sidewalk. About half the ants were able to climb up the wheels onto the rear bumper before the light turned green and the SUV took off again.

A few minutes later, the SUV turned left and pulled into the parking lot of a seemingly-deserted warehouse. Beyond the warehouse, Scott could sense the presence of a mass of different insects, though he could not recognize most of the species. However, he did recognize some wasps and a large number of dragonflies. Without hesitating, he ordered every single one of them to converge on the rear of the warehouse while staying away from windows.

Scott could make out the shapes of lampposts through the SUV's windshield, but the lamps were unlit. The headlights cast strange shadows around the parking lot. With a jolt he realized that the light was dimmer than it had been when the SUV pulled out of the bus station parking lot. On a whim, he commanded a swarm of hornets he had picked up a few blocks earlier to flap their wings. The light from the headlights spread out across the parking lot started dancing around in strange, rapidly changing patterns, and Scott had to force himself to stifle a laugh.

"Something wrong with your headlights?" Dan or Ralph asked with a note of humor, seeing the same thing. Scott immediately ordered the hornets to stop moving. The light stopped dancing, though now it was even dimmer than before.

"Shut up," the driver growled. "They're probably just dirty or something. You two numbskulls are in enough trouble as it is. The boss talked about relegating you to bathroom duty for your incompetence."

The SUV came to a stop just in front of the warehouse door. The engine cut off and the SUV doors opened automatically. Scott quickly ordered the insects who had landed on the front bumper to take off and hide themselves. Scott felt his stomach lurch when Ralph climbed to his feet and stepped out of the SUV. As soon as all the men were out, Scott ordered the mosquitoes and fireflies to fly out after them before the doors could close and trap them inside.

"What was that?" Scott heard the man who had been in the passenger seat ask. He could dimly see the man looking back into the rear of the SUV, confused.

"What was what?" Ralph asked, confused.

"I thought I saw—nothing." The man shrugged and turned away. "It must've been nothing," he decided.

Scott felt a number of different insect thought-clusters in the parking lot, many of which he immediately identified as ants, cockroaches, wasps, and mosquitoes. He ordered them to start moving toward the warehouse doors as quickly as they could.

The four men walked around the SUV to the warehouse doors, which swung open to admit them. Scott silently commanded all the insects to wait outside while the men walked into the bright light inside. At a thought, a trio of mosquitoes followed them in just before the doors slammed shut. The rest of the insects landed on the warehouse doors or milled around on the ground at their base.


	24. Chapter 23

AN: Thanks to Qweb, Lips of Yarn, and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

"What the hell are you two doing here?" a voice demanded. Scott furtively looked out his slit. The first thing he noticed was that the overhead lights above the center of the warehouse were all lit, casting bright white light around a clear space in the middle of the floor. However, the lights around the sides of the warehouse were unlit, and the lights in the middle of the room were casting the sides of the room into deep shadows. A group of men stood in the middle of the warehouse, including the two men who had picked Scott's "friends" up at the bus station. They formed a loose circle with the two gunmen, Dan and Ralph, in the center. Through the cluster of men, Scott could make out the speaker walking across the warehouse toward them from an office door on the opposite side. He was a white muscular man in black combat pants and boots and a black t-shirt. Scott could see gun holsters on both his hips. His arms were folded, and he was scowling.

"Reporting in," Ralph retorted, making what Scott interpreted as a show of confidence, though he could hear a note of fear in his voice.

"Reporting in? Reporting in is something you do on the phone," the other man growled, glaring back at Ralph. The cluster of men parted, admitting him into the circle. He walked straight through, and the circle closed behind him. He walked right up to Ralph so that their noses practically touched. Ralph took a half-step back from him, but the man moved a little closer. Through the top of the pocket Scott could see beads of sweat gathering on Ralph's neck. The new man barked, "I gave you strict instructions to find out if anyone had tracked the truck—"

"Which we did," Ralph replied with a gulp. "We found out that someone is looking into the truck."

"Did you find out who?"

"No—"

"Did you find out why?"

"No—"

"Did you find out how much they know?"

"No—"

"Then you _didn't_ do your job!"

"But—"

"He's not happy with your failure," the man said ominously.

"Wait—he's here?"

"Well, yeah. This thing is almost over, and he wanted to be here to see it."

Scott heard Ralph swallow thickly and twist his torso, looking around the warehouse. Scott saw a man coming toward them from the same door out of which the other man had exited. The man wore a light gray three-piece suit over a white shirt with black rimmed glasses. His short blond hair stood up straight from his head. Scott thought the face looked vaguely familiar.

"When I want a job done, I want it done right!" the new man said angrily, walking through the crowd without breaking stride. The other man took a step back from Ralph and inclined his head slightly to the newcomer. The newcomer ignored the gesture and continued walking straight up to Ralph, only stopping when he stood directly in front of Ralph. Though the newcomer was a few inches shorter than Ralph, Scott could feel the tension in Ralph's body increase.

"Sir—Mr. Hammer—" Ralph started, but Hammer cut him off.

"I hired you last month because you said you could contribute something to my plan to get those blueprints for Stark's newest weapon, but for that to work, no one can know _that_ I got them or _how_ I got them!" Hammer shouted. "And for that to happen, I need _you_ to keep prying eyes away from _my_ business." Hammer poked Ralph in the chest with his finger for effect. "The whole point of coming out here to the middle of god-damn nowhere was to make sure there's no connection to me! But that doesn't work if someone traces that truck back to this warehouse and connects the warehouse to me!"

_Justin Hammer!_ Scott realized. _CEO of Hammer Industries. _That's_ where I recognize him from; I must have seen his picture on the company webpage_. Scott quickly slid out of his pocket through the hole he had cut on the inside. When his arms were through, he grabbed onto the shoulder holster and pulled himself the rest of the way through, careful to keep his grip on the leather holster. Once he was through, he crawled up to the strap. Carefully, he climbed to his left around the man's torso on the strap, hand over hand. Finally he reached the small of the man's back, where he clung to the strap tightly with both hands.

Justin Hammer was still speaking. "This thing is _almost_ over," he was saying. "Yesterday the LA team called to report that that god-damn security guard took the card and they're waiting for him to make the drop. Once he does, it's over!" Hammer's voice suddenly grew higher and was filled with frustration. "Almost a _year_ I've been trying to get those plans, and you people's incompetence and that same damn security guard's somehow been getting in my way every step of the way! We try kidnapping the girl to make her father cooperate, and the damn guard stops it. We bug Stark Industries; he finds the bugs. We send a guy in to infiltrate the facility, and he nearly gets away with the plans; I don't know how it happens but that same… damn… guard… gets in his way." Hammer sounded close to hysteria by this point. "But now—oh, I love the irony—I've got _him_ to do it for us! And I can't wait to get my hands on that memory card. It's so close I can feel it! I've put too much into this to stop now, and I'm not letting you two _boneheads_ mess it up! Now get out of my sight!"

Scott summoned his three mosquitoes and commanded two of them to bite Ralph while the other flew around behind him and hovered just below the middle of his jacket. Ralph yelped, and Scott felt the jacket shift as Ralph swung his arms to shake the mosquitoes off. As soon as he felt the movement, Scott let go of the holster strap to drop the foot or so out of the jacket. Unfortunately, he got stuck in one of the jacket folds just as it closed when Ralph's arm moved the wrong way. Scott pushed the jacket out to make an opening and dropped through it just before Ralph smacked the small of his back right were Scott had been caught. Scott slipped out the bottom of the jacket and landed on the mosquito's back. Quickly he urged his mosquito to fly away while the other two remained to harass the men in the circle so they would not notice him.

Scott directed the mosquito to fly in a straight line with a few zigzags at about the men's waist level so they wouldn't notice them. They made their way through the crowd of men, angling toward the opposite side of the warehouse from where the men were clustered together. As soon as they were out of the circle of thugs, Scott told the mosquito to fly up higher, closer to the ceiling. As they rose higher, Scott noticed with a jolt that he was hearing more insect thought-clusters as he ascended. He realized that the helmet's range increased the higher he flew. Scott immediately ordered the mosquito to fly up to the ceiling of the warehouse, where Scott noticed that he could feel the presence of every insect within a half-mile radius from the warehouse. He immediately ordered all of them indiscriminately to converge on the warehouse.

From his position next to the warehouse ceiling, Scott had an excellent vantage point to see the entire warehouse. He could see machine parts pushed up against the far wall, creating a wide open space in the middle of the floor where the men were still gathered. A series of machines were set up in a row connected by a conveyor belt next to several computer consoles on the east side of the warehouse. Scott saw a couple men wearing white lab coats clustered around the computer consoles next to the conveyor belt. There were stacks of closed crates near one side of the assembly line, and an empty crate rested below the other end of the conveyor belt, with more empty crates against the wall next to it.

Looking to the other side of the warehouse, Scott noticed a single office. His eye almost passed over it, until he saw the two men holding M-4s who were guarding the single door. The windows were blacked out and covered over with boards. The bars blocking the outside of the windows looked to have been installed very recently. Scott couldn't see any light coming through the crack below the door.

_There must be something in there that needs to be guarded_, Scott thought, inspecting the setup more closely from his high vantage point. _You know, that would be a good place to hold a prisoner. I'd better check it out_.

He urged his mosquito to fly down closer to the windows of that office. When the mosquito was close enough, he jumped off and grabbed onto one of the bars. He nearly lost his grip, and was immediately thankful for the rubber grips on the palms of his gloves that saved him from falling off. He climbed hand over hand along the crossbar to where it reached the wall. Looking around, Scott noticed a small sliver of space at the top of the window between the wood planks covering the window and the window itself. The space was just above the bar Scott was holding onto. Scott let his legs dangle below the bar and started swinging them to build momentum. When he guessed that he had enough momentum, he swung one more time and let go of the bar when he reached the peak of his arc, letting his momentum carry him up toward the sliver of space he had noticed. It wasn't until he hit the wall directly above the window that he realized he'd misjudged the jump.

Scott started sliding down the wall in a daze. He felt his legs slide down past where the wall ended and into the open space where the window was. He shook his head to push the cobwebs away just as his body started to fall. He reached out a hand and barely caught the top of the wood plank before he fell past it. He pulled himself up onto the top of the plank and looked in.

The window was so dirty that Scott could barely see through it. However, Scott could just make out the shape of a chair by the dim illumination coming from the small sliver of light that could get into the room through the small opening at the top of the window. The chair was turned away from him, but he could see two arms tied together behind the chair back. A shock of black hair with a streak of grey in it was visible above the chair.

Hardly daring to hope, Scott looked around to find an opening in the window that he could slip through. On the opposite side of the window from where he crouched he saw a cracked hole in the glass near the top of the window. Cautiously, he shuffled along the top of the wood plank to the other side of the window. He turned around and put his feet through the hole, holding onto the edge with his hands. Taking a deep breath, he let go and dropped into the room, reaching down and twisting the dial on his belt as he did so. He dropped about a foot before his feet hit the ground when he grew back to his normal size.


	25. Chapter 24

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. Yeah, Hammer's the bad guy… again. I realized partway through writing this one that Hammer's the villain in 3 of my 5 stories so far. But don't worry; he doesn't show up again (that I envision, anyways). As far as my portrayal of him in this story, this is a year before _Iron Man 2_, and we're really meeting him near the end of his attempt to steal something from Stark Industries. All of the humorous parts we saw of him in that movie were earlier on, while he was "courting" Vanko to assist him; we saw a darker side when things didn't go his way. Hence he's a lot less friendly and more aggressive.

Right after I posted Chapter 23, I saw an article on Yahoo! about a possible upcoming announcement regarding Vin Diesel and Marvel. The article suggested that he might be cast as Hank Pym in the upcoming _Ant-Man_ movie. I don't know how I feel about that, especially since I envision Pym as more like Bruce Banner: genius scientist first of all, and only later (reluctantly) becoming a superhero. Should Pym be buff? Maybe a few years into his Ant Man career, but certainly not right away. Plus, Pym may not have much of an action role in the movies set in the present day.

But that's just my musings. Feel free to comment in a review. But now on to Scott.

* * *

"Hello? Is someone there?" a woman's voice asked from the chair in the middle of the room. She strained her neck to look around the back of the chair at the window where Scott had just appeared. Scoot could see her squinting her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the poor lighting coming through the slit in the window through which Scott had entered.

"Shh…" Scott cautioned her, putting a finger over his lips and creeping closer to the chair. "My name's 'Ant-Man,'" he added. "I'm here to rescue you."

"'Ant-Man'?" the voice asked dubiously, more quietly this time. She stopped struggling against the ropes and trying to see him, and instead leaned back against the back of the chair. She observed, "I read about Ant-Man in the papers. He's been around for decades. You sound a little too young for Ant-Man."

"Um… yeah," Scott replied, reaching the chair. "It's a long story. You're Dr. Erica Sondheim, right?"

"Yes," Dr. Sondheim replied. "How'd you—?"

"Long story," Scott told her quickly. "But it's not important right now. Right now, I've got to get you out of here."

Scott pulled his knife out of the sheath on his belt and quickly cut through the rope binding her wrists together. Next he leaned down and cut through the ropes tying her ankles to the chair. Despite the gloom, Scott could see that the doctor was older, in her sixties, with a well-lined face. The deep bruising under her eyes testified to the little sleep she had gotten since her abduction. Her clothing was dirty and torn, suggesting that she had not changed clothes in a couple weeks. Her already-slender form looked like it had suffered malnutrition for longer than the two weeks which she had been in the abductors' hands, though she had eaten even less during that time. The doctor slowly and gingerly pushed herself to her feet, massaging her wrists as she did so.

"So what's the plan now?" Dr. Sondheim asked, straining her eyes to see Scott in the gloom. Scott could tell the minute she got a decent look at the outline of his head; she flinched visibly when she saw the bulbous, alien-head shape of his helmet.

"Give me a minute," Scott told her, ignoring the flinch. The doctor started quietly pacing around the room, trying to restore the blood flow to her feet. Scott sat down in the chair, the only piece of furniture in the room, and pulled his tablet out of its compartment on his belt. He also rummaged around until he found a shape he recognized as a 100-GB external hard drive. He pulled the external hard drive out, pulled the size manipulating leads out of their compartment, attached them to the tablet and external hard drive, and expanded both back to normal size. He plugged the hard drive into the tablet and quickly copied all the surveillance data he'd gathered onto it: the cloned hard drive and bugs he'd planted in the apartment, the phone tap on the two gunmen, and everything he'd found over the internet regarding the doctor's abduction and the identities and location of the abductors. He also created additional access codes for all of the bugs he had planted and included those codes on the hard drive. He quickly typed his own observations and notes on the events of the previous few days into a document and saved it on the hard drive. Once he was done, he detached the hard drive from his tablet and shrank the tablet down again. He detached the leads and stowed them and the tablet in the appropriate compartments on his utility belt.

"Doctor," Scott said, turning to Dr. Sondheim and handing her the external hard drive, "I'm going to create a distraction so you can escape. Hide in the corner until I give you a signal, and then run out of here, make a right, and run straight out the warehouse door. Do not look back and do not stop until you reach the street. Go straight to the police and hand them this hard drive. Tell them exactly what happened to you and where this warehouse is; hopefully they'll be able to do something with all this information."

"Okay," Dr. Sondheim answered with a nod, slipping the hard drive into one of her jeans pockets.

Scott moved to the door and got ready to throw it open. Before he could, however, Dr. Sondheim put a hand on his forearm and asked, "Wait, how can I repay you for saving me?"

Scott was quiet for a minute. Finally he sighed and told her, "There's a little girl in LA named Cassandra Lang who's been suffering from childhood leukemia for almost six years, ever since she was a year old. None of the treatments have been able to help her, but supposedly yours can. You can repay me by treating her and saving her life."

"I will do what I can," Dr. Sondheim said earnestly.

"Good, now hide in this corner and keep your head down," Scott said, indicating the corner near the door.

"Hang on. What's the signal?"

"A swarm of hornets flying into this room through the door."

Without waiting for a response, Scott pulled out a lock pick set and quickly picked his way through the cheap lock on the door. As silently as possible he turned the knob and opened the door a crack. Looking out, he saw that the two men were still standing there with their M-4s held at waist level and staring out toward the middle of the warehouse. They did not seem to have noticed that the door had slid open a crack.

Scott glanced around, taking in as much of the warehouse as he could see, trying to memorize the layout. He saw a support beam near the main warehouse door with a couple buttons on it. From the snatches of conversation he could catch, Scott determined that the crowd of gunmen must still be gathered in the middle of the warehouse floor, though his view of them was obstructed by a large piece of machinery about ten feet in front of the door. With a deep breath to calm his nerves, Scott leapt into action.

He flung the door wide open and stepped out into the opening. Before the two guards could react, Scott chopped out his right hand and caught the guard on that side of the door square in the neck just under the chin. The man coughed and brought one hand up to clutch his throat, just as the other guard reacted by raising his M-4 to point it at Scott's chest.

Before the man could fire, however, Scott kicked out with his left leg as hard as he could, catching the guard in the right side just under the ribs. The man groaned and lost his grip on the M-4, which Scott caught in his left hand before it could hit the ground. While that man crumpled to the ground with a groan, Scott spun the gun around and struck the other guard in the side of the head with the butt of the gun. That man slid soundlessly to the ground. Scott pulled one guard into the room and then the other, hoping that no one had noticed.

As soon as the two men were inside the room, Scott quickly pulled out a length of rope and used it to hog-tie the two gunmen together with their arms and legs tied together behind their backs. He tore off a couple strips from a blanket, shoved one in each man's mouth, and put a piece of duct-tape over their mouths to keep them quiet. Once they were tied securely and couldn't move, he pushed them over to the opposite wall. When he was finally satisfied with his work, he pulled out the leads, shrank one M-4 down and put it and the leads in his utility belt, and slid the shoulder strap of the other gun over his own shoulder.

Scott slipped out the door again, careful to stay low so he could hide behind the piece of machinery in front of the door. He fell to his knees with his back to the machine, and carefully looked up over the top. He counted about fifty men, most armed with M-4s, though he noticed a few with handguns only. He saw that the men who had been standing in the middle of the warehouse were no longer clustered in a circle; instead, they seemed to be milling around. Several were looking over at the machine where Scott was hiding. A couple were walking in that direction. They hadn't noticed that the guards were missing yet, but it was only a matter of moments before they would.

Scott slipped the M-4's strap off his shoulder and rested the barrel on the top of the machinery behind which he was hiding. He quickly flipped the safety off and let off a spray of bullets into the middle of the warehouse.

Scott heard a chorus of surprised shouts as all the men dove for cover. He ducked back down when he saw several guns starting to come up and point at his makeshift cover.

"What the hell's going on?" he heard someone shout from across the warehouse. He thought it sounded like the leader, the man in all-black combat gear.

A few voices started yelling at once. Finally, he heard one call out, "No clue. One minute everything's normal; the next someone's shooting from over there!"

"Just one person?"

"Maybe!"

"Well, there's fifty of you. Figure it out!" the leader ordered.

Scott heard the sound of fifty guns cocking or chambering rounds. He quickly shrank down, pulled out the leads, attached them to the M-4, and shrank the gun down, as well. He looked around until he saw another piece of machinery that could serve as cover from which to shoot, about ten feet to his right. Without hesitating, he ran out from his cover, directly to the other piece of machinery. The gunmen opened fire on his previous location a moment after he ran out from behind it.

Scott heard a massive explosion, followed by a scream of surprise and pain, an instant after the gunmen opened fire. He chanced a look over his left shoulder in the direction the sound had come from. He saw that Ralph, the man in whose pocket he had stowed away, had just dropped the remains of his revolver and fallen to his knees. He was cradling his right hand in his left elbow, grimacing in pain. It looked like tiny shards of metal had dug cuts into his face, which were oozing blood. A couple of the men standing near him were also bleeding from small cuts in their arms and faces.

As soon as he reached his new location, Scott twisted the dial on his suit, simultaneously pressing the button in the compartment at the small of his back to return the M-4 to normal size. The moment he and the gun had both returned to normal size, he swung the M-4 barrel up to rest on top of the machine and let out another spray of bullets. He ducked just before the gunmen returned fire at his new location. A minute later, the men stopped firing, and Scott let off another burst over the top of the machine he was using for cover.

In the space created by his second burst while the men searched for cover, Scott quickly surveyed the scene in the warehouse. Other than Ralph's injuries, the enemies seemed largely uninjured, though Scott had hit a couple of them, one in the arm and another in the leg. He noted that they had spread out to try to surround his new position and his old position, careful to stay behind cover as much as possible. With dismay, Scott realized that they were cutting him off from both the exits and the office where he had left Dr. Sondheim.


	26. Chapter 25

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

When he realized that the gunmen in the warehouse were trying to pin him down and cut him off from both the exits and the room where he'd left Dr. Sondheim, Scott immediately located all of the flying insects on the river side of the warehouse. Once he had found all of them, he ordered them to start locating places where they could crawl through the wall and enter the warehouse. As soon as they were inside, he commanded them to move away from where they had entered and rest on the wall.

While the insects were crawling through the holes in the wall to enter the warehouse, Scott pushed himself up to look over the machine behind which he had taken cover. He let off a couple quick bursts at the enemy gunmen who were pinning him down, keeping their focus entirely on him instead of the insects or the doctor. He ducked the moment he noticed a couple gunmen raising their guns to shoot at him.

When he heard the enemy barrage stop a minute later, Scott leapt to his feet. "You threw a firecracker at the wrong ant-hill!" he shouted, emptying all the bullets left in his magazine at the gunmen closest to his position. When the gun clicked empty, he immediately reached down and twisted the dial on his belt and pressed the button in his utility belt to shrink the M-4. The last thing he saw before shrinking down behind the machine was every man in the warehouse dropping their guns in shock as he seemingly disappeared.

"That—that's the guy!" he heard someone shout—Ralph or Dan from the truck rental office, he assumed. "That's got to be the guy who was looking into the truck!"

"And you led him right to us!?" a different voice shrieked. He heard a slapping sound. "Are you _stupid_!?"

While the gunmen were fighting among themselves, Scott commanded all of the insects inside the warehouse to gather into a massive swarm near the ceiling. A moment later, the light in the warehouse dimmed and nearly disappeared. Scott heard strangled screams all around him as he imagined that the gunmen had noticed the light dimming and looked up to see what had happened. Without hesitating, Scott ordered all of those insects to attack. Simultaneously, he pulled out the other M-4 and attached it to the leads from his utility belt, stowing the M-4 with the empty magazine in a compartment as he did so. He pressed the button and twisted the dial, and he and the M-4 both returned to normal size.

The moment Scott finished growing, he broke from cover toward the support pole he had seen earlier. He heard a few scattered shouts when the gunmen noticed him, and bobbed and weaved a little to avoid the men shooting at him while himself shooting his M-4 over his shoulder one-handed. The moment he reached the pole, he pressed the green button and the doors on both sides of the warehouse swung inward. In front of him, Scott saw the front doors covered with flying insects. Crawling insects like cockroaches, ants, and grasshoppers swarmed around on the ground just outside both warehouse doors.

"Attack!" Scott bellowed, spinning around to face the men gathered around the warehouse. He held up his left hand, which was holding the M-4, and pointed at the large group of men sheltering behind the crates beside the assembly line to his right. Forty-six guns turned to point in his direction from all around him. Before they could fire, however, Scott reached down with his right hand and twisted the dial on his belt and then reached back to press the button to shrink his gun. He jumped up into the air just as he and the gun began to shrink, and landed on the back of a dragonfly which he had commanded to fly past and pick him up.

With practiced ease, Scott settled in on the dragonfly's back, balancing himself carefully, and squeezed tightly with his knees to maintain his seat on it. When he was sure he would not fall off the dragonfly's back, Scott put both hands on the M-4 and let off a burst with a shout. He let out a triumphant whoop when he hit a man on the other side of the warehouse with the burst. The man dropped his gun and started shaking his hand when the miniature bullets connected with his trigger finger.

Scott urged his mount to fly up higher, closer to the ceiling, and twisted his torso to look around and survey the scene below him. Near the door on the river side of the warehouse, a trio of men were writhing and screaming in terror, nearly buried under a pile of angrily buzzing mayflies.

Further in, a small group was trying to fight desperately against an entire colony of ants, supported by about a hundred grasshoppers and cockroaches. The men, who were surrounded on all sides, were trying to shoot at the insects, but were having trouble aiming at the tiny bodies. A couple bullets connected with the insects, but several more ricocheted away on the concrete floor and embedded themselves in the warehouse wall. One of the men was trying to stomp on the insects surrounding them, but whenever he stomped, the insects cleared out of the way, only to charge in and climb his leg the moment it touched the ground. He dropped his gun into the crowd of insects and reached down with both hands to brush the insects off his legs.

Hornets, wasps, yellow jackets, and bees flew in concentric loops around the warehouse about ten feet above the ground. Every few moments a group would break away from the rest to dive at an unsuspecting gunman and sting him before returning to the cloud of stinging insects. Already a few of the gunmen had fallen to the ground with their arms clutched above their heads to protect against the stings. Unfortunately for them, the ants and cockroaches were crawling over everything on the floor.

Butterflies and moths fluttered wildly around the warehouse around eyelevel. Scott ordered them to distract the gunmen by flying into their faces and flapping their wings. He nearly laughed when one of the men tried to shoo the butterflies away from his eyes and only succeeded in smacking himself in the face. Another started swinging his gun wildly at the moths and hit the man next to him in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground.

Seeing that all of the gunmen appeared to be sufficiently distracted, Scott nodded to himself and sent a silent command. Immediately, a couple hundred hornets he had been keeping in reserve outside the warehouse shot through the door on the parking lot side. They flew in a straight line directly into the room where Dr. Sondheim had been tied up and was now hiding. A moment after the hornets entered the room, Scott heard a woman's stifled scream from the room before the doctor fled from the room, hands behind her bowed head, a look of terror nevertheless visible in her eyes. She was immediately followed out the door by the swarm of hornets, which spread out to flank her on both sides and follow a few feet behind her back and buzzed angrily.

Scott suddenly noticed two gunmen who were huddled together about fifteen feet from Dr. Sondheim's room, between the room and the exit. Scott saw them move to raise their rifles to their shoulders. At a thought, about fifty of the hornets surrounding Dr. Sondheim streaked forward to interpose themselves between the gunmen and the doctor. They reached the gunmen as their guns came up, and threw themselves into the men's faces and hands. One man dropped his gun and threw his hands up to protect his face; the other jumped to his feet and fled as quickly as he could out the warehouse door, screaming in terror and followed by a dozen hornets. A minute later, the doctor ran out the door, still surrounded by hornets. Scott ordered the hornets to continue protecting her until she reached the street. Once she was out the door, he returned to directing the battle raging below him.

Scott's eye was drawn by the leader of the gunmen, who happened to be surrounded by cockroaches, backed into the corner on the far side of the warehouse. He was holding a handgun in either hand and shooting at the cockroaches, taking a couple out with each bullet. Scott directed his dragonfly to fly lower, directly toward the leader. As they went, he commanded a trio of yellow jackets to converge on his position and fly ahead of him. In less than a minute, Scott was within a couple feet of the leader. He commanded the cockroaches to part an instant before he jumped off the dragonfly's back.

As he left his seat on the dragonfly's back, Scott twisted the dial to return to normal size and stowed his M-4 back in a utility belt compartment, still attached to the size-altering leads. Simultaneously, he ordered the yellow jackets to sting the leader in the hand. The leader screamed in pain when the yellow jackets stung him, and then jumped in surprise as Scott seemingly materialized before his eyes.

"You guys are real tough when you're kidnapping doctors and holding little girls' lives in your hands," Scott snarled. "I'd say you should pick on someone your own size, but you can't even handle someone a hundredth your size! Not so tough when it's tiny little insects instead of helpless doctors, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, Scott instructed his dragonfly to fly directly into the leader's face, batting its wings in his eyes. The dragonfly ducked down just before Scott swung his fist and punched the leader in the cheek. The man fell back a pace. His back was against the wall. Scott punched him again, this time in the gut. The leader slid down the wall to finally collapse in a sitting position against the wall.

"Now to make sure you stay put…" Scott smirked. As he said it, he commanded the cockroaches to converge on the leader again. The man roused himself enough to struggle feebly, but couldn't brush the insects away fast enough. In an instant, his lower body and chest were covered with cockroaches.

Scott spun around to check on the rest of the room, and saw that none of the other gunmen were putting up much of a fight any more. Most were crouching low and covering as much of themselves as possible with arms that were covered in sting marks. Several seemed to be missing, having fled out the doors to avoid the insects. A couple lay prone on the ground, unresponsive, while ants crawled over them.

A sound to Scott's left was all the warning he had that someone was moving. He quickly spun on his heel, just in time to see Justin Hammer run out of an office along the wall and race out the door on the river side of the warehouse.

"You may have won this round," Hammer sneered as he fled the warehouse, though Scott detected a note of fear in his voice, "but I'll see you again, and next time, I'll make you pay for this!"

Scott took off after Hammer at a flat-out run, ordering all the insects in the warehouse to stay there and keep the gunmen from leaving before the police arrived as he did so. The only insects to follow him out of the warehouse were his dragonfly mount and the three yellow jackets. Just as he reached the warehouse door, Scott leapt into the air and twisted the dial. He reached out with his right arm and caught one of the dragonfly's rear legs. Quickly pulling himself up onto the dragonfly's back, he turned his four-insect group to follow Hammer into the night.


	27. Chapter 26

AN: Thanks to jakefan, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, and Qweb for reviewing the last chapter. After this chapter there are 3 left, and then an epilogue. I already started on my next story, but it will probably be a while before I finish it and start posting.

* * *

Scott quickly found Hammer outside the warehouse, despite the darkness. In the light escaping through the open warehouse door, Scott could see Hammer climbing into the driver's seat of a black sedan parked a few feet from the door. Scott urged the dragonfly to gain altitude, giving his helmet a longer range. The car roared to life just as Scott flew over it. He flew up higher, nearly twenty feet above the car, and felt the presence of the same massive swarm of unknown insects he had detected on the car ride to the warehouse. When the battle had started, he had decided to keep those insects in reserve outside the warehouse in case he needed them. More of the same species, another massive swarm, appeared in his thoughts about a mile away. Though he still could not see what species of insects they were in the darkness, Scott commanded both swarms to join together and join him in chasing the car.

In the distance, Scott could hear police sirens screaming toward the warehouse. Silently, he prayed that the police would arrive before Hammer managed to escape the parking lot.

Justin Hammer shifted the car into drive an instant after Scott reached it, and burned rubber away from the warehouse and across the parking lot. From his vantage point, Scott could see that the line of police car lights were approaching the warehouse from the right, but were still a couple blocks away from turning onto the street with the warehouse. Evidently Hammer could also tell from which direction the police were coming; with only a moment's hesitation, he turned left when he reached the parking lot exit. Scott cut the corner across the parking lot to follow him, urging his mount to fly higher into the air they went. He felt the wind whipping around him through the thin, tight-fitting fabric of his suit as he passed above the tree line. He found yet another swarm of the same species of insects on his left over the river, and commanded them to converge on the car as well.

By this time the car was nearly three blocks ahead of Scott and continuing to pick up speed. Twisting his head, Scott saw that the entry ramp to a highway was only a couple blocks ahead of them.

"If we don't stop him now, we'll never stop him and he'll get away," Scott shouted to his dragonfly. The dragonfly buzzed back angrily and sped up.

Scott cast about for a way to stop the car. Finally he sensed a small army of lightning bugs fluttering around in a sports field about a block away, just before the entry ramp. Desperately, Scott commanded all the lightning bugs to fly into the street and stop blinking. The lightning bugs formed a tight cloud on the right side of the street, which was utterly deserted now in the middle of the night. None of the street lights were lit, leaving the street almost pitch black. By now the car was about half a block away. Scott reached into his utility belt to find the rocket launcher. He waited half a second longer before ordering the lightning bugs to all blink on simultaneously. A massive cloud directly in front of the sedan turned bright yellow for a long moment, and the sedan swerved to the side to avoid the shockingly-bright light. Simultaneously, Scott whipped the rocket launcher up to his shoulder, locked onto the car's rear wheel as a target, and fired. Just as the car swerved, the rocket hit the ground just behind the left rear tire. The explosion pushed the tire up off the ground, and, coupled with the car's own momentum, forced it to flip over and roll down the street about half a block. It finally came to rest on its roof in the middle of an intersection just past the interstate entry ramp.

Scott and his insect entourage arrived at the intersection where the car had finally stopped just as its sole occupant dragged himself out through the smashed driver's side window. Scott commanded his dragonfly to descend to about eight feet from the ground, where he jumped off its back just in front of where Justin Hammer was in the process of pulling himself to his feet and dusting off his suit, and twisted the dial on his utility belt slightly past his normal size. He grew from less than an inch tall to over twelve feet tall in a moment. Scott leaned down to stare at Justin Hammer, who was now less than half his own height.

"You thought you were going to get away from me?" Scott demanded, leaning over with his face directly in front of Hammer's. He slapped Hammer across the face with a massive frying pan-sized hand.

"Did you enjoy holding a little girl's life in your hands?" Scott shouted angrily as he slapped Hammer again. "Does that make you feel big and powerful?" Another slap.

"Who the hell are you!?" Hammer demanded, holding his arms up in front of his face defensively.

"Someone who doesn't like seeing little girls used as leverage," Scott retorted, punching Hammer in the gut, causing a few of his ribs to creak. Hammer fell back several steps to lean against his wrecked car.

"Who are you?" Hammer wheezed, cradling his lowest ribs tenderly.

"You used my daughter as leverage!" Scott shouted, reaching out and grabbing Hammer's shoulders firmly with both hands. He lifted the man six feet off the ground and gave him a single violent shake.

"You—!" Justin Hammer gasped in shock and fear, forcing his head to stop shaking and looking up at Scott in realization. "You're that damn security guard!" he spat.

"Yeah," Scott growled. He pulled Hammer closer, until his was less than half a foot from Scott's helmet, and ordered the fireflies to illuminate him. The street glowed bright yellow for a moment, long enough for Hammer to catch sight of the eerily-shaped Ant-Man helmet and flinch in terror. "Not so tough without a small army of thugs to back you up, are you?" Scott laughed, swinging his right fist at Hammer again. He stopped an inch from the man's face when Hammer jerked his arms up weakly to protect himself.

"Why did you pick me?" Scott demanded angrily.

"You?" Hammer retorted in confusion. He yelled, "I _didn't_ pick you. _You_ picked _me_! I've been after Stark's new missile system for over a year. I didn't care how I got it, but _you_ decided to get in my way! You're nothing but an ant running around at the feet of giants!"

"Well, this _ant_ is not going to be your _pawn_. Not anymore!" Scott yelled back.

"I'll get you for this!" Hammer nearly shrieked.

"No, you won't," Scott shook his head, dropping the billionaire to the ground, where he collapsed in a heap. "You're going to jail."

"You haven't got anything to connect me to this," Hammer shot back triumphantly, unsteadily pushing himself up to his feet in a show of strength. "That warehouse? By the time the cops unravel the Russian nesting dolls of shell companies that rented it, we'll all be dead and buried. Those thugs? No paper trail, no one to say it was my money paying them except themselves, and who's a jury going to believe: a bunch of criminals, or a well-respected CEO with a spotless record and government contracts? You've got _nothing_ on me!"

"That may be so," Scott shrugged. He leered down at Hammer and added, "But if you ever even _touch_ me or my daughter again—" Scott stepped back a pace and kicked Hammer in the chest, sending him flying across the street, for effect. Hammer collapsed in a heap with a groan at the base of a telephone pole. One hand feebly came up to hold his now-broken ribs.

Scott turned to walk away from Hammer down the street toward the warehouse. Before he did, however, he turned and said, "Just to make sure you don't forget this little chat…"

Scott sent a silent command to the massive swarm of insects circling just off to the side of the street. There was a moment of calm, but it was immediately interrupted when the pinpricks of stars in already-darkened sky disappeared and a thick cloud entirely blotted out the stars, buzzing noisily. In the glow of the fireflies, Scott was finally able to identify the swarm of insects. Tens of thousands of angry cicadas swarmed around in the sky about ten feet above Scott's head, swirling around in a giant cyclone the size of a city block, nearly three stories in height. At another command, the cicadas dove from the sky at breakneck speed.

Justin Hammer let out a strangled whimper and stared up at the cloud of cicadas in terror. He lifted his arms to protect his face a moment before the cicadas hit.

Tens of thousands of angry cicadas flew straight down into Hammer without slowing down. The first group to hit him did so at such high speed that their exoskeletons shattered and their guts splattered all over his suit, leaving welts on his exposed arms where they struck. More and more cicadas hit him. After the first group splattered, the next group's dive was slowed by the first group's bodies, and these landed and started crawling around on Hammer, clicking angrily. Over the sound of cicadas hissing, Scott could hear a whimper coming from below the pile. By the time all of the cicadas reached the ground and were climbing over Hammer's body, Hammer was buried up to his neck under them.

"Sleep tight," Scott smirked, walking away. He called back over his shoulder, "And remember: Any insect you see could be my eyes and ears, watching you. I might be there whenever you eat, whenever you sleep; whenever you go to the bathroom, I might be sitting on the toilet paper watching you. I'm like Santa Claus with antennae: Be good, because you never know if I'm watching you."


	28. Chapter 27

AN: Thanks to krikanalo, Qweb, and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. In case Hammer's reasoning was unclear, he had been trying for over a year to steal the same information, and Scott inadvertently got in his way every single time (kidnapping Liz to use as leverage, bugging the security computers, sending in a thief). Finally, Hammer decided to get back at Scott _and_ get the info at the same time by blackmailing him into doing the dirty work for him. As we've seen, it didn't exactly work out for him!

* * *

Scott let out a resigned breath as he swiped his Stark Industries access card at the front gate. He had just returned to Los Angeles an hour earlier by sneaking onto another commercial flight; he hadn't thought that the Ant-Man suit would exactly make it through airport security! Since it was almost 2:30 in the afternoon, Cassie was still in school for another half-hour, so he couldn't go and see her yet. And anyways, he needed to run an errand before saying goodbye to her.

Scott parked on the far side of the Stark Industries parking lot, climbed out of the car, and pulled a nondescript black duffel bag out of the back seat. He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looked around the parking lot, and finally crossed it, making a beeline directly toward the main office building. As soon as he reached the door, it slid open automatically, and without a moment's hesitation he immediately turned left to walk down the hallway to Dr. Pym's office.

When he arrived outside the doctor's office, the knot in his stomach clenched even tighter when he realized that Dr. Pym was sitting at his desk. He nearly turned to walk out and come back later, but the doctor looked up from his computer at that exact moment and saw him standing there. Dr. Pym motioned seriously for Scott to enter, and Scott slowly pulled the door open and stepped through.

Scott didn't say anything for a moment until the door clicked shut behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Pym cut him off.

"Pull down the blinds, Mr. Lang." The command was stated matter-of-factly, without any obvious emotion behind it, making it hard for Scott to determine what the Doctor could be thinking.

Scott turned to look at the door, and noticed what seemed to be a new set of venetian blinds installed on the inside of the door to cover the window. He pulled on the string to lower the blinds, and twisted the dowel to twist them shut.

He turned around to see that Dr. Pym had similarly drawn the blinds shut on the outside windows. "I had these installed after you caught me changing last month; I don't want anyone else catching me with my pants down!" Scott thought he finally detected a trace of humor in the doctor's tone, but it did nothing to relieve the tightness in his chest.

"Sir—Dr. Pym—"

"Sit down, son," Dr. Pym interrupted him, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk. Scott hesitantly took a seat in one of them. The doctor opened his mouth to speak again, but Scott, finally finding his nerve, cut him off and didn't let him speak.

"Dr. Pym," he began, speaking hurriedly, "I know I shouldn't have taken your suit like I did, especially without asking you first. It's just—I was backed into a corner. I had to save my daughter. I didn't know what else to do; my only option was to steal from the company or borrow your suit, and I did not want to steal from the company I work for—not again. Anyways, here's your suit back. I'm sorry for stealing it." Scott set the duffel bag down on the desk between himself and Dr. Pym, and looked down to inspect his shoes and the thick red carpeting below them.

Dr. Pym didn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, Scott looked up from the floor to see Dr. Pym sitting at his desk chair and watching him critically.

"Sir?" Scott asked.

"Why did you do it, Mr. Lang?" Dr. Pym asked simply.

"My daughter," Scott answered slowly. "She has leukemia. We've tried everything, but nothing has worked for her." Scott explained that he had come to work for Stark Industries primarily to give Cassie access to better doctors, in the hope that one of them would be able to find a cure for her. "I found the doctor who could cure her, but the doctor disappeared before we could set up an appointment with her."

Scott continued, explaining the phone call he had received instructing him to steal a piece of data from Stark Industries in exchange for the doctor's freedom. "They knew about my criminal record, Doc, how I'd stolen from the last company I worked for down in Atlanta. They thought that would make me a perfect target for them to blackmail into stealing for them.

"Doc, I made it into the building, past all the security measures, even the newest ones we installed after the last break-in. I was standing right outside the lab they wanted me to steal from, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't steal from the company I work for again and risk going to jail. I had to find a better way, one where I might be able to look at myself in the mirror afterwards."

Scott looked over the desk at Dr. Pym and concluded, "I'm sorry that my 'better way' involved stealing from you. I brought the suit back so I could make restitution for what I did. I'll turn myself in to the police tomorrow, after I take my daughter to see the doctor and say good-bye to her."

Dr. Pym sat at his desk without speaking for a few moments, just staring across the desk into Scott's face. "'Dr. Pym, I'm taking your suit. I'll explain later. I'm sorry. Scott Lang,'" Dr. Pym finally read, holding up the sticky note he had taken off the Ant-Man mannequin two days earlier. "You have no idea how concerning it was for me to get a warning at home that my 'Ant-Hill' had been opened, and then come in the next day and see that my Ant-Man suit was missing, and have no idea where it was, Mr. Lang.

"That's why it's a good thing that did not happen," he added, a tiny smile finally cracking across his lips.

"…What?" Scott asked, confused.

"When I installed my hero equipment in the office, I added GPS locating devices to all my suits, just in case something like this happened," Dr. Pym explained patiently. "I knew exactly where you were every step of the way, Mr. Lang. Actually, I nearly pulled out my Yellowjacket suit and followed you, but I thought better of it."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Lang, you remember me telling you that I gave away my Goliath suit last year, right?" Dr. Pym asked.

"Yes…"

"My research assistant for the last 16 years before my retirement was a brilliant scientist named Bill Foster," Dr. Pym told him. "He actually had the idea to reverse the polarity on a canister of Pym Particles and infuse it with Delta Rays to slightly alter its chemical properties. We did some experimentation, and discovered that altering the Particles in that way would allow something to grow larger than normal instead of just shrinking and returning to normal size. That's actually where the Goliath identity came from."

Dr. Pym fell silent for a few minutes, gazing off to the side at the panels which Scott knew were hiding his hero equipment. Finally, Scott surreptitiously cleared his throat, pulling Dr. Pym back to reality.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Anyways, when I retired last year, I thought it was only fitting for Bill to be the next Goliath, seeing that it was his idea behind the technology that makes it possible. Well, that and I wanted there to still be a Goliath!"

"What does this have to do with me?" Scott wondered.

"I've been searching for a new Ant-Man for close to a decade, ever since I realized I wasn't as young as the hero business seems to require. And I've been giving that search a lot of thought since you stole my suit, Mr. Lang," Dr. Pym answered. "You could have done anything you wanted to with it; the possibilities are practically endless! But instead, you took the suit to St. Louis and did this—" Dr. Pym dropped that day's _St. Louis Post-Dispatch_ on the desk in front of him, on top of the duffel. Scott picked it up and read the headline on the front page above the fold, "Ant-Man Saves Doctor, Takes Down Street Gang." Underneath the _Post-Dispatch_, Scott saw another newspaper, this one the _LA Times_, with the headline, "Ant-Man Returns," also on the front page above the fold. The photograph accompanying the _St. Louis Post-Dispatch_ article showed a warehouse filled with insects, both live and dead, along with a few of the gunmen being handcuffed by police. Opening it to read the second page showed another photograph, this time of Scott in the Ant-Man suit riding a dragonfly, which had obviously been caught by a traffic camera during his chase of Justin Hammer. The _LA Times_ article only included a single photograph, a stock picture of the Ant-Man standing in front of a bound criminal.

"You know, that headline isn't strictly accurate," Scott observed, pointing at the _Post-Dispatch_. "They weren't a street gang; they were part of a corporate espionage ring trying to steal company secrets."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Pym said waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about the cover story. The point is: You could have used the suit to steal the information they were looking for. You could have used it for any number of illegal things. Instead, you took the group down and saved the doctor so you could save your daughter's life.

"Mr. Lang, keep this," he said, pushing the duffel off the desk and into Scott's lap. "I think I've found the new Ant-Man."

"What?" Scott gasped in disbelief. "But… why?"

"I see in you the same desire to do the right thing that I had myself when I started, and which I saw in Bill the minute I met him," Dr. Pym replied simply. "However, I'm only giving you this suit under two conditions."

"Name them," Scott replied, still in shock.

"First, you must promise me that you will only use this power for good."

"I promise," Scott answered with an earnest nod.

"And second, you must promise that you will keep the name and the suit," Dr. Pym said with a smile. "Call me prideful if you like, but this is the only suit which has maintained exactly the same look and color scheme since I created it fifty years ago. It's so well known, it seems a shame to change it."

Scott thought about it for a minute. Finally, he nodded his head in agreement. "Fair enough. I'll keep the name and suit the same."

"Excellent," Dr. Pym said. "Let me know when I can come over to help you set up a Pym Particle generator in your apartment," he added.

"I will," Scott replied. "Thank you so much for not reporting me to the police."

"You're very welcome, 'Ant-Man,'" Dr. Pym said with a short laugh. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a silvery metal box. "I'm guessing you'll be wanting these," he observed, sliding the box across to Scott.

Scott opened the box and saw that the interior was padded, but with indentations the exact size of Pym Particle canisters. It had spots for twenty, but only sixteen of the spots were filled.

"If you're anything like me, you probably used up most of the canisters on your belt just over the last three days," Dr. Pym explained with a small laugh.

Scott laughed and pulled a brown paper bag out of the duffel. "Close," he said. "I used about two-thirds of them."

"Well, you can have these for now, and I'll bring a few more by when I install your generator," Dr. Pym offered.

"Yes, sir," Scott said, standing up, shaking Dr. Pym's hand, and picking up the duffel. "Oh, and Dr. Pym? Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Lang."

* * *

Not even a minute after Scott left his office, Dr. Pym picked up his phone and dialed a number. The phone only rang once before someone picked it up.

Dr. Pym listened for a minute before interrupting, "Yes, yes, you don't need to go through the whole thing. I liked the old name a lot better. Get me Hill."

He waited a couple minutes for the call to be transferred.

"Hill? It's Hank Pym… I know— No… No, I'm not coming out of retirement; actually I've got something much better for you…"


	29. Chapter 28

AN: Thanks to krikanalo, Qweb, and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. This should help clear up a few things, and then there's one more chapter with the complete resolution of the story, and which sets the stage for the next story in this "Ant-Man" story arc.

* * *

Because his talk with Dr. Pym took so long, Scott was not able to pick Cassie up from school that afternoon. Instead, Scott arrived at the apartment around 4:00. He walked up the stairs to their top-floor apartment, and walked down the hallway past the apartment where the two men had been doing surveillance. He had to work very hard to keep his expression neutral and stifle a laugh when he noticed that that particular apartment's entrance was blocked off with police tape. However, he nearly lost it when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a couple wasps still buzzing around the ceiling.

Scott reached his apartment, pushed the door open, and dropped his duffel bag just inside the doorway, expecting Cassie to immediately run up to him and give him a hug. Instead, he saw Liz and Cassie sitting at the dining room table having an animated conversation with a strange woman. The stranger was slender with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was even more confused to see that she was wearing a black single-piece synthetic leather catsuit with a black-and-silver emblem patch on the right shoulder in the shape of an eagle. Scott could not quite place where he had seen her before.

"Hello?" Scott asked. Liz and Cassie both spun around to look at him, startled.

Cassie immediately jumped up from her chair and ran over to Scott, who bent over to pick her up. "Daddy!" Cassie cried happily, kissing him on the cheek and hugging him tightly around the neck.

"Oh, I've missed you, bumblebee!" Scott said, hugging her back. The two of them stayed in that position for a long moment, before Scott looked over his daughter's shoulder at the two women still sitting at the table.

"I take it your 'project' was a success?" Liz observed, making air-quotes around "project" and giving him a knowing look.

"Yeah…" Scott replied lamely. "I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, looking at the other woman. "You look vaguely familiar; have we met?"

"As a matter of fact, we haven't met formally, though you have seen me before," the other woman said with a small laugh. "I was in the diner to protect Miss Elizabeth Byrne last year when you saved her life and made my job both considerably harder and considerably easier."

"Hang on, you were there to protect me? Why?" Liz asked, giving the woman a look of confusion.

The woman told her, "Your father is an important employee of Stark Industries, and my Division contracts most of our equipment, including some very… unique… equipment, from Stark Industries." She rose to her feet, walked over to Scott, and offered him a hand, saying, "My name is Maria Hill; I'm an Agent with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

"The who?" Scott asked, looking at the offered hand suspiciously. "Is that like the police? Because Dr. Pym said he wasn't going to call the police."

"Wait—'Dr. Pym'? As in Henry Pym? He's my chemistry professor this semester at UCLA, and a family friend," Liz said, looking at Scott in surprise. She turned to Maria and said, "You didn't tell us that Dr. Pym was the Ant-Man."

"The same," Hill nodded, barely giving Liz a glance. She turned to Scott and told him, "No, we're not the police, but Dr. Pym did call us, right after you left his office in fact."

"Why did Dr. Pym call you?" Scott asked suspiciously.

"He's been working with us for decades," Hill answered calmly, letting her arm fall back to her side. "He was actually one of the first scientists to join the S.S.R.—the Strategic Scientific Reserve—during the Cold War, back in the early 60s. Howard Stark himself recruited him for the S.S.R. shortly after Pym made his discovery."

"So why did he call you today?" Scott asked again.

"He made you his successor as Ant-Man, correct?" Hill asked. Without waiting for a response, she answered the question, "Don't bother denying it; Dr. Pym told me himself."

"What about it?" Scott asked, still suspicious.

"I'm here to offer you a job," Hill explained. "Pym's old job, to be precise. He worked for us on a contract basis in the Intelligence and Counterintelligence Department, as well as in Research and Development, in addition to his work at Stark Enterprises."

"You're offering me a job?"

"Yes," Hill told him. "We would like you to come to work for us as an espionage and counterespionage specialist. We can also give you the opportunity to work with the technology you love so much."

"So you want me to be a spy?" Scott said, confused. "I don't know if Dr. Pym told you this, but I'm no spy."

"Perhaps not by training," Hill replied, "but you already have most of the skills you would need, coupled with your suit, to complete all the missions we would assign you. The rest we'll teach you in our basic training."

"Oh?" Scott said, interested.

Hill pulled out an external hard drive and showed it to him. "You recognize this?" she asked. "It's the same external hard drive that you told Dr. Sondheim to turn over to the police. She turned it over to them, and they immediately passed it on to a pair of agents from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

"You might want to change the name," Scott observed with a laugh. "So were you guys responsible for the whole 'taking down a street gang' thing?" Scott asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. Creating cover stories for these types of incidents is one of our directives. Of course, considering that Ant-Man is moderately well-known, that simplifies things substantially; we don't have to explain away the millions of insects that the police found in the warehouse, since dropping the name 'Ant-Man' explains it pretty easily. We _do_ have to put together an alibi for you, however," Hill explained. She handed him a plain manila folder. Scott opened it up and saw a pair of plane tickets and a couple other documents inside. "You were in Atlanta meeting with your parole officer. He wanted to check up on you and see how your new job was working out for himself instead of having to trust the reports from your LA parole officer. But hopefully you won't need this; the best identity protection you have at this stage is anonymity."

"So you've seen what those thugs did. Why do you want me?" Scott asked, looking up from the documents.

"We want the man who was able to sneak into Stark Industries with about 4 hours' preparation and without a super suit and didn't raise any alarms. We want the man who singlehandedly took apart an entire criminal organization in the space of two days. We want the man who traced that criminal organization across the country from just a few scraps of information and with no support team or backup. We want the man who singlehandedly fought and defeated an overwhelmingly larger force. We want the man who gathered enough information to put all of those criminals away for two decades. In short, we consider this hard drive to be your job application. And we accept," Hill told him easily.

"What would this new job mean?"

"Well, the benefits are extremely competitive," Hill began. "You can see the world. You'll be serving your country. We will expunge your criminal record entirely…"

"I mean, will I be able to keep my daughter?"

"Some agents have," Hill nodded, "though typically they're married and their spouse is the primary caregiver. Divorced… I wouldn't recommend it. But you would probably get to see her at least every couple months, possibly more often."

"Then I refuse," Scott said steadily. "Everything I've done has been for her, and I don't want to lose her again."

"Mr. Lang," Hill said, "the way I see it, you have two options: You can stay here, keep working for Stark Industries as a security guard, do some computer programming on the side, have your daughter living with you, and pull out the Ant-Man suit on occasion. Or else you can join our Division as an Agent, be a fulltime 'superhero,' do everything you did over the last two days on a more regular basis while serving your country and your world, with much better benefits than you get from Stark Industries, and see your daughter every couple months, but still more often than in prison."

"Don't remind me." Scott thought for a minute and turned to look at Cassie, who was still in his arms. "Well, bumblebee, what do you think I should do?" Scott asked her gently, giving her a squeeze. "Do you think Daddy should go off to join Miss Hill's Super-Secret Security Squad, or should I stay here with you?"

Cassie looked at him with her big blue eyes, and squeezed his neck. "I want to be here with you and Miss Lizzy, Daddy. But I want you to be a hero," she finally said.

"Are you sure, Cassie?"

"I'm sure, Daddy," she nodded seriously. "I want you to be a hero."

"Well, Agent Hill of the Seriously Long Names Division, I guess it's decided. I'm going to be a fulltime superhero," Scott finally said. "But I need at least two weeks to finish at Stark Industries and get things settled with Cassie."

"Done. Report to this address when you are ready," Hill told him, scribbling an address on a napkin. "Welcome to the team, Ant-Man."

* * *

AN: It occurred to me after writing this chapter that thus far no one's been overly thrilled when Maria showed up to recruit them for the Avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course, Scott's reaction wasn't nearly as interesting as Rhodey's! (see Chapter 1 of "Avengers Plan B")


	30. Chapter 29

AN: Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter. I know it seems a bit odd that after all this Scott would give up Cassie again to join S.H.I.E.L.D., but remember that he didn't want to; he decided to do it because Cassie said he should. Plus, he does kinda need to start working for S.H.I.E.L.D. at _some_ point by the end of this story!

Well, we've finally come to the end. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! There's an epilogue coming tomorrow, but the story itself ends with this chapter. Think of it like a really extended after-credits scene. Tomorrow will also have the preview for my next story, which will be—

[Now that would just be too easy, wouldn't it!]

* * *

"What's the story, Dr. Sondheim?" Scott asked, squeezing Cassie's shoulder as he asked the question. The two of them were sitting in an examination room next to Dr. Sondheim's office a few days after Scott had returned from his disappearance and accepted Agent Hill's job offer. They had been sitting silently in that examination room for the past three hours while the doctor ran tests in her lab next door.

Dr. Sondheim looked up from her clipboard and gave Cassie a broad smile. She turned to Scott and informed him, "I just finished testing the samples I took this morning and compared them to Cassie's previous tests. I also ran a computer simulation of her treatment."

"Is that good?" Scott asked, holding his breath.

"Oh, yes. It's very good," Dr. Sondheim replied with a wide smile. "The blood tests showed that my experimental treatment is still an option, and the simulation shows that it is very promising. Cassie has a 96% chance of making a full recovery and then a 3% chance of making only a partial recovery. There is only a 1% chance that my treatment will not help her."

"Oh, thank God," Scott breathed in relief, leaning back into his chair. He subtly wiped his eyes with the back of his right hand and wrapped his left arm around Cassie to give her a hug.

"I'm going to get better?" Cassie asked hopefully, looking up at the doctor wide-eyed. "No more doctor visits? No more feeling tired all the time? No more—" she made a face "—tea?"

"'Tea'?" Dr. Sondheim asked in confusion, looking up at Scott.

"It's an herbal remedy that our pediatrician suggested," Scott explained. "Every night we made her inhale the tea for a few minutes and then drink the tea. It was supposed to have some benefits in difficult cancer cases. Cassie was never a fan of it, though."

"I think I read that same study a while back," Dr. Sondheim nodded in realization, "though I haven't seen much confirmation of whether it helped."

"Well, we're here, so it didn't exactly _cure_ her…" Scott observed wryly. "So far as I could tell, the most it did was let me think I was actually doing something to help her!"

"Actually, looking at her blood work from Indiana and then here, the tea may have actually slowed the progress of her condition," Dr. Sondheim informed him.

"Huh… well what do you know," Scott said in surprise.

"Anyways," Dr. Sondheim said finally, "we need to set up her treatment schedule. She's going to have one procedure today, and then we'll give her another round tomorrow, and then two days after that. She'll need check-ups and blood panels every month following those three rounds of treatment for the next six months. After six months, you'll need to bring her in to see me again for a check-up and a fourth procedure. A year from today she'll receive the fifth round. After that, check-ups every six months for the next five years."

"I'm actually taking a new job out of state soon," Scott told her. "Cassie will be returning to Indiana to live with her mom and stepdad. Do all of those monthly check-ups need to be with you?"

"No; it's fine if she goes to a different doctor for those check-ups, though that doctor will need to overnight the blood samples to me for testing. The visits six months from now and a year from now will have to be with me, however. After that, I'll need to see her for one of the check-ups each year, and the other one can be with a different doctor," Dr. Sondheim answered slowly.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Scott said. "Either my ex-wife or I will bring her, or else a friend in LA might be able to bring her."

"Very good," Dr. Sondheim replied.

"So how much will the co-pay be for all of this?" Scott asked, reaching for his wallet.

Dr. Sondheim gestured for him to put the wallet away. "I couldn't ask you to pay for any of this," she told him. "I will consider it a privilege and an honor to be here to help her."

"But, why?" Scott asked.

"Consider this my repayment for saving my life," she told him with a knowing glimmer in her eyes. Seeing the confusion in Scott's face, she added, "I'm a scientist; I'm supposed to be observant. Did you think I wouldn't recognize your voice and put two-and-two together?" On seeing the concern flash across Scott's eyes, she reassured him, "Don't worry; I won't tell a soul."

"Thank you," Scott finally said.

Dr. Sondheim turned to Cassie and said, "Well, are you ready, Miss Cassie?"

Cassie squeezed her father's hand tightly, looking up at him with fear in her wide-open blue eyes. He squeezed her hand back and whispered, "It'll be okay. Don't worry. I'll be right here when you get out, bumblebee."

Cassie nodded to him, looked up at Dr. Sondheim, and said, "Uh-huh. I'm ready."

* * *

Two weeks later, Scott had completed his final two weeks at Stark Industries and bade a sad farewell to his coworkers. Few had asked questions about his impromptu disappearance two weeks earlier, though it had raised some eyebrows, particularly when he put in his two weeks on his first day back from the "vacation."

On Agent Hill's advice, Scott found another apartment in a different part of town to set up as a safe house. He had started the rental a week previously, and Dr. Pym had installed a Pym Particle generator in the new safe house a couple days later. At the same time, he had given Scott blueprints so he could build his own in any other safe houses he set up.

Scott had just finished moving some of the furniture from his old apartment into the new safe house. The Goodwill truck had just pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot with the rest of the furniture. Now Scott was in the process of dragging his and Cassie's luggage out to the car they would be taking to the airport.

Liz waited for the two of them at the outside door to their building, having just returned from dropping her belongings off at her parents' house. She opened the trunk of her car and helped Scott to load the suitcases in before climbing into the driver's seat. Once Scott and Cassie were buckled in, Liz turned the key to bring the car to life. She pulled out of the parking lot and turned toward the airport.

"Liz, I can't thank you enough for all your help this year," Scott began. "I don't think any of this would have worked out without you."

"Please," Liz replied, brushing it off, "it was a pleasure to help you with Cassie. I absolutely loved getting to know her," she added with a glance in the mirror at Cassie, who was sitting in the back seat. Cassie beamed back broadly.

"Still… you helped in ways you don't realize," Scott told her lamely. "So… thank you."

"You're welcome," Liz answered with a smile. "I'm going to miss you and Cassie."

"I think we're both going to miss you, too," Scott responded. "Isn't that right, Cassie?"

"Uh-huh," Cassie chimed in with a sniffle. "I'm going to miss you Miss Lizzy."

"It's not so bad, Cassie," Liz told her. "You'll come and see me when you're here in six months, right?"

"I hope so," Cassie answered, breaking into a smile.

The car pulled into the departure level at the airport at that moment. Scott immediately got out to pull the suitcases out of the trunk. Liz opened her door and started helping Cassie out of the car. When Scott and Cassie were ready to go, Liz leaned over and gave Cassie a hug.

"You tell your mommy that I say 'hi,' okay, Cassie?" Liz whispered.

"I will," Cassie whispered back.

Liz released her and turned to hug Scott. He awkwardly hugged her back.

"You still are my hero," Liz told him quietly when they parted. "What happened two weeks ago hasn't changed that."

"Thanks," Scott told her. "I'm still ashamed of what I did, though," he added.

"Considering that Dr. Pym wasn't upset, you shouldn't worry too much about it," she responded. "Think of it this way: You were _my_ hero and Cassie's hero before; now you can be a lot of _other_ people's hero."

"Fair enough."

"Now you'll be sure to give me a call when you come for Cassie's next appointment, right? My parents will always have a spare bedroom for you two whenever you're in town," Liz said with a smile.

"I will be sure to remember that. Thank you," Scott responded. "Well, we'd better get going if we're going to make our flight."

"Good-bye!"

* * *

As soon as Scott and Cassie walked away from her and into the terminal, Liz got back in her car and drove back into town. She headed toward her parents' house, but drove past the road that led back there, instead turning onto the next street. She pulled up in front of a nondescript light-blue one-floor house. Taking a deep breath, she exited the car, walked up the walkway, and rang the doorbell. A slightly-shorter elderly woman with short silver hair and a wrinkled face opened the door.

"Mrs. Pym?" Liz began. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Elizabeth Byrne. My dad works with Dr. Pym at Stark Industries. It's been a couple years since the last time I was here—I was a freshman in high school at the time."

"'Elizabeth Byrne'…" Mrs. Pym began, staring intently at Liz's face. Sudden recognition flashed across her eyes as she smiled broadly and said, "Why, of course! Little Lizzy! How are you, dear? Oh, it's been far too long! Please, come in!" She stepped to the side and gestured for Liz to enter.

With a smile, Liz stepped inside the house and gave Janet Pym a hug.


	31. Epilogue

AN: Thanks to krikanalo, Qweb, and Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for reviewing the last chapter.

This takes place a year after the previous chapter, during the events of _Iron Man 2_, _Hulk_, and _Thor_. Given how much was happening more or less simultaneously during "Fury's Big Week," I was wondering what role Fury would have asked Agent Lang to play during those events. So here's my answer. Not exactly a post-credits scene; maybe more like a One-Shot.

* * *

"Lang," Scott said, flipping his cell phone open after one ring.

"Agent Lang, we have a minor situation brewing," Director Fury said. "I know I gave you the weekend off with your daughter, but I need you right away."

"I'm in LA with Cassie for her doctor's appointment, sir," Scott said.

"I know. The emergency's in LA."

"Convenient." Scott smirked. "What's the situation?"

"You received the briefing packet on Tony Stark, correct?"

"Affirmative, sir," Scott replied. "He's Iron Man and he's dying from palladium poisoning. That pretty much sums it up, right?"

He thought he heard a snort over the phone line. "Good enough," Director Fury told him.

"So what do you want me to do, sir?" Scott asked. "I don't know if you remember, but I still have another couple weeks of training."

"This shouldn't be too much trouble," Director Fury responded. "One of our Shadows alerted us to a possible developing situation. I need you to attend Stark's birthday party tonight undercover. We're a bit concerned about his… erratic… behavior, so I'd like at least two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents inside to keep an eye on things. Black Widow has already backstopped you with an invitation; no need to sneak in this time."

"Suit?"

"Under your civvies," Director Fury instructed. "You're undercover; no one should know you're S.H.I.E.L.D. Hopefully you won't need the suit."

"Yes, sir," Scott said. "Sir, how long will this take? I mean, I only have a couple days with my daughter…"

"If all goes as planned, you're back on vacation tomorrow."

* * *

Scott was standing near the wall at Tony Stark's birthday party that evening, watching Stark DJ while wearing his Iron Man suit. Scott rolled his eyes as Stark began dancing in the suit and took a swig from a bottle, which promptly fell to the floor and shattered.

"Hawkeye, it is not looking good in here," Scott whispered, putting his hand up to his mouth with a pretend yawn and speaking into the clasp on his wristwatch. "Someone's gonna get hurt. I don't even know what you'd call this; is he… _suiting_ while intoxicated? I mean, he's not exactly _flying_…"

Barton, who was set up in a perch on the roof next to a sunlight, snorted and replied over the communicator, "And this surprises you, Ant-Man? I mean, you used to work for the guy, right?"

"Only in the broadest possible sense of the word," Scott replied with another fake yawn. "I never talked to the guy; I only ever saw him once, from across the parking lot."

"Cut the chatter, boys," Romanoff's voice interrupted. Scott glanced around the room and caught sight of the other undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on the other side of the room near the basement stairs. He was amazed to see that her mouth was barely moving. "We may have some trouble here."

"What's happening, Widow?" Barton asked, suddenly businesslike.

"Not sure, but JARVIS just sent me an alert that another suit's been activated," Romanoff reported.

"What the hell is Stark doing with _another_ suit!?" Scott demanded, subtly bringing his watch up to his face.

Less than three minutes later, Romanoff muttered a warning to the other two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, a moment before Scott heard loud metallic steps thudding along the hallway toward the party.

"I'm only gonna say this once: Get out," a dark-skinned man wearing a silver suit shouted angrily, lowering the suit's faceplate a moment after Scott saw his face.

On seeing another man wearing an Iron Man suit, the crowd of partiers immediately ran for the doors to flee from the party. Scott did his best to blend in with the crowd.

"Widow, Ant-Man, what the hell is going on down there?" Barton demanded over the radio. "I can't see what's happening from this vantage point."

"Another man in an Iron Man suit just walked in and told everyone to leave," Scott reported. "I don't recognize him or the suit."

"It's Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes," Romanoff said. "He's wearing Stark's Mark-II suit."

"What should we do, Widow?" Scott asked, looking around the room to find Romanoff. He caught sight of a shock of red hair disappearing around a corner to leave the area.

"You know, I don't think we covered this in the briefing," Barton added.

Romanoff took some time to think before responding. "Do not break cover, but we do need to get the civilians out of here before this gets ugly," she finally told them. Scott heard a crash from the other side of the house as if to emphasize that point. "Or ugli_er_, anyway. I'm going to locate Ms. Potts. Hawk, stay on the roof. Ant-Man, see about getting rid of these civilians."

"Should I get rid of them _Ten Commandments_-style?" Scott asked with a smirk.

"Negative. Do not break cover."

"Gotta be the hard way," he muttered. Scott immediately headed up the stairs and out the main door and started urging the party guests to leave the premises. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Stark and the newcomer, Rhodes, fist-fighting through the glass wall.

"This is insane, people!" he shouted. "We gotta get outta here!" He was gratified to see a number of the people outside the house start heading for their cars to leave. Behind him, he heard a metallic yell coming from Iron Man. At the sound, all the remaining party guests fled in a blind panic.

"Hawk, we've got a problem here," Romanoff reported a moment later. "Get off the roof! It's going to—"

Scott turned around to look back into the house just in time to see an expanding ball of white energy explode outward in a disc, cutting through the sides and roof of the house, blowing a gaping hole in the opposite side of the house. He threw his arms up to cover his face just before a shower of glass shards reached him. A shape caught his eye as Barton leapt from the roof a moment before the section where he'd been crouching started to cave in. Barton, wearing his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform and face black, landed next to Scott in the driveway, bow out and an arrow already strung, and immediately disappeared back into the shadow of the house.

"Holy hell!" Scott shouted. "Widow—"

"I'm fine," Romanoff said briskly. "I'm with Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan, and we're all safe. Hawk?"

"Fine. Just another day at the office." Scott could hear the smirk in Barton's voice, though he couldn't see it in the darkness.

Scott went to respond, but cut out when he heard thrusters activating behind him. He turned to see what was happening, and saw the silver human-shape of Rhodes' suit take off straight up into the darkened sky.

"Orders, Black Widow?" Scott asked finally, turning to look at the house again.

"It looks like Stark's getting ready to leave," Barton reported from inside the damaged house.

"We can't lose Stark," Romanoff said. "I think we need to bug him."

"GPS arrow?"

"I think he'd notice that."

"If I aim it just right, the discussion's moot…"

"I'm on it," Scott interrupted, putting his hand in his right pocket, twisting the dial on his suit through the pocket, and pulling his already-shrunken helmet out of the same pocket. "Someone should probably pick up my clothes."

"Actually, a pile of abandoned clothes would fit in pretty well at a Tony Stark party!" Barton joked.

Scott snorted just as he shrank out of his clothes. He put the helmet on the moment he was small enough for it to fit, summoned a mosquito, and mounted it to fly into the house. He arrived just as Stark was pushing himself to his feet and activating his thrusters. Scott jumped off the mosquito, grabbed a handhold on Stark's back, and quickly used a rope to lash himself down to a loose screw on Stark's lower back a moment before the suit took off into the night sky.

* * *

Stark flew around aimlessly for half the night, Scott clinging to his handhold for dear life. Finally, Stark decided to stop at a donut shop, where he walked in, bought a box of donuts, and flew up onto the roof to eat them. Satisfied that Stark was not planning to leave any time soon, Scott finally called in.

"Black Widow, this is Ant-Man," he whispered into his communicator.

"Ant-Man, this is Director Fury. What's your status?" came the immediate response.

"Sir, Stark flew around LA a couple of times, but now he's stopped at Randy's Donuts out on Mulholland just outside of Malibu. Right now he's just lounging inside the donut on the roof," Scott reported.

"We copy," Director Fury replied. He groaned. "Somehow, nothing Stark does surprises me anymore. I'm about ten minutes out with Black Widow and a couple more agents from the LA field office. Stay with Stark until we arrive."

"Copy."

Ten minutes later, Scott watched a black SUV stop on the road directly in front of the donut shop. Director Fury stepped out, and the SUV pulled away and made a sharp right into the parking lot next to the donut shop.

"You are dismissed, Ant-Man," Director Fury said into his communicator quietly. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you again for a week."

"Thank you, sir," Scott replied, letting go of the Iron Man suit and catching a ride on a passing hornet to rendezvous with the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV, which carried a change of clothing for him.

Scott was just flying away when behind him he heard Director Fury call out, "Sir! I'm gonna have to ask you to exit the donut!"

* * *

And now the moment you've been waiting for…

Coming Soon: _Avenger Origins: Wasp_

* * *

_Scott Lang came to suddenly and shook his head from side to side to chase away the cobwebs that had settled in while he was unconscious. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly while they adjusted to the bright fluorescent overhead lights. He opened his mouth slowly, feeling the bruise that was starting to set in along his jaw line. The doubled vision that rapidly started to go away told him he might be suffering the aftereffects of a concussion._

_Scott tested his arms; they were bound tightly behind his back, so tight that it was starting to restrict blood flow to his hands. Testing his legs produced the same result: he was tied to the chair so tightly he could barely move. At that his head cleared suddenly and he started moving the fingers of his right hand in a complicated pattern. Nothing happened. With a jolt, he realized that his backup Pym Particle belt was missing. He had been wearing it under his civilian clothes when he left S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York office; now he could no longer feel the elastic belt and bulges from metallic canisters under his jeans and T-shirt._

_He pulled against the restraints holding his arms behind his back. His arms could barely move. However, he felt something metal on his left wrist. He grinned darkly: They hadn't taken his watch. Mentally thanking Bobbi for giving it to him before his last mission, he quickly maneuvered the clasp with his right hand until he could extract the tiny hidden blade inside it. Then he went to work on the ropes binding his wrists. As soon as they were free, he cut through the ropes at his ankles and slipped the blade back into its slot in his watchband._

_While he rubbed his wrists to work the circulation back into them, Scott looked around his prison. The door did not have a handle or a lock on his side; it could only be opened from the outside. He tried pushing or kicking it open, but it would not budge. He couldn't see anything to indicate where he was or who had taken him; there were no windows, no trash on the floor, not even a stray newspaper. The only other thing in the room was a 25-year-old computer. Scott rushed over to it and waited impatiently while it booted up. He looked around furtively, hoping that no one had noticed when he freed himself. Finally the computer loaded, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it had an internet connection. He started typing an e-mail, stopped suddenly, and started over. He had just clicked "Send" when he heard the lock on the other side of the door being unlatched. He pressed the power button on the computer, forcing it to shut down, and stood up just as the door opened._


End file.
